


Empire of Sand

by SheilaPaulson



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-14
Updated: 2003-03-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 19:19:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11812536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheilaPaulson/pseuds/SheilaPaulson
Summary: An alternate outcome.





	Empire of Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Note from oracne, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Bang and Blame](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Bang_and_Blame), a Blake’s 7 archive, which has been offline for several years. To keep the works available for readers and scholars, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after June 2017. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Bang and Blame collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/BangAndBlame/profile).
> 
> Originally published in Return of the Seven 3

"Is it true? Have you betrayed us? Have you...betrayed  _me_?"

The pain in Avon's voice cut through Blake's suspicions and a part of him stepped back and listened to Avon's shock. Avon didn't sound entirely sane, somehow, and that was so far removed from Blake's hopes and expectations that he didn't know how to respond to the question. "Tarrant doesn't understand," he defended himself.

"Neither do I, Blake." It was a desperate plea for an explanation, and Blake had to stop and think of the best way to phrase it. This could go disastrously wrong.

He said hastily, "I know Tarrant is part of your crew, but I couldn't trust him without testing him. I test all new recruits, but he required special treatment."

His gun still leveled at Blake, Avon hesitated, and if he still seemed dreadfully close to pulling he trigger, at least he was listening now.

Given a momentary reprieve, Blake plunged on, determined to make sense of everything. "Do you remember I told you I was captured back on Earth and Bran Foster's group shot down by Federation troopers?"

Dazed, Avon nodded, and Vila edged forward warily, coming to stand beside Avon. He didn't touch him nor look particularly supportive of him, but Avon's eyes darted sideways for a moment and his tension eased fractionally.

"We remember, Blake," said Vila quickly. "Go on."

"Do you recall the name of the man who betrayed us? He was at my trial; until then I hadn't realized he had infiltrated the group and survived the massacre. He was a Federation agent."

"So now you expect Federation agents everywhere?" the blond woman asked suspiciously, her gun still ready in her hand. From her grip on it and her stance, Blake realized she was more than capable of using it. This must be Soolin, the gunfighter who was reported to have joined Avon's crew on the Scorpio.

"I do expect them, and it's saved my life on more than one occasion, but that isn't why I had to test Tarrant,"

"It's because of him, isn't it, Blake?" Tarrant asked bitterly. "Even after all this time, he follows me everywhere. I didn't expect I'd ever get away from him. But I guarantee I'm not Federation. You have my word on it."

"What are you talking about?" Avon's gun swung in Tarrant's direction now, coming to rest somewhere between Blake and Tarrant as if prepared to fire in either direction. Blake took a cautious breath. Avon hadn't betrayed him, but his sanity seemed fragile and that made him more dangerous than if held gone over to the other side. This would not be easy. Feeling Arlen shift beside him, he hoped his hot-headed new recruit would wait and let things develop without jumping to the wrong conclusions.

"We're talking about my father," Tarrant explained, winning a surprised look from Avon as if it had taken this apparent red herring to cut through the fog in his mind.

"Father?" he echoed

The black girl, Dayna, caught Tarrant's arm, and he flashed her a grateful look. "Tarrant isn't his father," she insisted.

"No, but I wasn't to know that," returned Blake. "I only knew I had been betrayed by Dev Tarrant. Now here's another Tarrant, who, for all I know could have infiltrated Liberator for the express purpose of turning you all in."

Predictably, Vila shot Tarrant an uneasy look, but then he shook his head. "No. Much as I hate to say it, Tarrant's had too many chances to betray us, and he never took them. He's annoying, but I don't think he's Federation. He couldn't be, not after two years."

"Are you very sure of that?" Avon demanded. The gun was leveled at Tarrant now, but Tarrant turned toward Avon, his eyes both defiant and anguished, and Avon lowered the gun slowly, though he didn't put it away.

Everyone was staring at Tarrant and Avon, so Blake felt what none of the others saw, a weapon shoved into his back. "Nobody move!" Arlen shouted and jabbed him roughly with the gun. "Blake said he couldn't tell who was Federation any more," she went on. "He was right. He couldn't."

Tarrant's eyes hardened.

"You're a Federation agent!"

"I'm a Federation officer," she snapped, all military zeal. "If any of you try anything, Blake will be the one who dies. Do you hear me?" she barked at Avon, who had shifted fractionally. "Try that again and you'll be the one who kills him."

Avon froze and for a moment Blake wondered if he'd gone catatonic, but his eyes still lived, full of desperation and hatred. Blake suspected coming here had been Avon's last chance, and Avon knew it. Finding Blake had become such an obsession that when the reality did not match his expectations, he was helpless. This was not the same man Blake had known on  _Liberator_ , the man he'd hoped would find him again, the man who would help him put his own life back in order.

"Drop your guns!" commanded Arlen sharply. "Do it now, or he's dead!"

Weapons clattered to the floor, Avon's last of all. Through the woman's grip on his arm, Blake could feel the tension that ran through her like a coiled snake as she announced, "Now we wait. I've signaled for the attack."

Vila edged forward and Blake stared at him in surprise. Vila the coward, making a move? But Vila sidled up to Arlen and began babbling at her.

"Now look, I've never been against the Federation. I've only ever been along for the ride. I'm not even armed. You can't kill me. I'm completely harmless--and armless."

Under the cover of his babble, two things happened. Deva burst into the room and Dayna reached for her gun.

Arlen fired before Deva could demand answers, and Blake's second dropped to the floor. Dayna tried to dive sideways to get a shot at Arlen without hitting Blake, and Arlen, who had no such compunctions, shot Dayna too.

At which point, Vila astounded Blake by taking Arlen out with a quick, efficient punch, and bent to retrieve her gun.

Suddenly the room was full of Federation troopers

Blake went for cover, relieved to see that Avon, who had stood through the whole exchange without speaking, had enough instincts of self-preservation to seek shelter, from which he coldly and efficiently shot every Federation trooper within range. Vila ducked out of sight, using Arlen's discarded weapon to protect himself, and Soolin was all cool efficiency as she fired, planning her shots with an economy and precision that made Blake glad they were on the same side.

Tarrant, the only one of Avon's band he'd suspected, went to Dayna first and bent over her before diving into shelter himself. Though Blake couldn't see his face, the fact that he'd not taken her with him told its story as well as his slumped shoulders and the fierce anger in his movements did.

Blake didn't know how much back up Arlen had expected, but they couldn't hope to hold their position indefinitely while the Federation sent for reserves. Carefully keeping low, Blake darted across the room to Avon's position only to freeze when, sensing a movement, Avon brought his gun to bear. For an impossible instant, Blake and Avon faced each other across the gun, then Avon caught himself and lowered it. "Get into cover, damn you," he snarled, then, before Blake could do anything, he raised the gun and fired.

Half expecting to be blasted at close range, Blake experienced a moment of disorientation when the shot that took him came from behind, and even as consciousness began to fade, he realized Avon had fired past him at the trooper who was in the act of shooting Blake.

At first he didn't completely lose consciousness, observing Avon bending over him, his eyes almost completely blank. "Blake?" he demanded urgently.

"Get out of here, Avon," gasped Blake. "Escape route. Under stairs. Control panel..."

Avon must have understood for he spun abruptly and burst from cover, firing. Other shots echoed his but Blake was too far gone to follow Avon's progress. Then someone raised him up and began to drag him, and the pain was so great that the control center faded away, and there was nothing but night.

#

 

"What do we do now?" Vila demanded. Since he'd already asked this question about ten times, Tarrant ignored him and looked at Avon and Soolin who were completing a makeshift dressing on Blake's back. The wound looked worse than it was, but escaping through the forest plantations did not seem the ideal way to promote healing, and the escape tunnel only led into the forest, not, as Tarrant had hoped, to a concealed ship. Avon had used his weapon to bring down the roof of the tunnel behind them, so the Federation could not follow, but they would track them down eventually if they didn't move soon.

"We shut up and wait," Tarrant snapped at Vila

"That's easy for you to say," Vila snapped back. "It's all your fault anyway, innit?"

"It's not my fault," Tarrant snarled with unaccustomed viciousness, and Vila, who often bore the brunt of his bad temper, seemed to feel that the tone was excessive even for Tarrant.

"Blake's then?" he offered tentatively, perhaps as an apology.

"Say what you mean. It's because of my father. If it hadn't been for him, Blake would have accepted me simply because I was with Avon and none of this would have happened."

"Not much it wouldn't," Vila disagreed. "Arlen was still there. No matter what Blake decided about you or your father, she would still have done what she was sent there for, and Blake would probably be dead now too."

A painful silence fell, and Tarrant knew that Vila too was thinking of Dayna. They had been unable to bring her body out, and Tarrant regretted that. He'd always felt a kinship for Dayna, perhaps because they had joined the  _Liberator_  at the same time, and her death hurt, especially coming hard on the heels of Zeeona's. Glancing at Avon, who sat silent watching Blake, Tarrant felt a sudden surge of sympathy for the man.

Tarrant had known for some time, certainly after learning that Servalan had survived the destruction of Liberator, that Avon's mental state was beginning to deteriorate, but there had been nothing he could do about it. He'd tried once to talk to Vila about it, but Vila had not been inclined to be helpful; after Cally's death, he'd changed too, and although he still seemed to care about Avon, at least until recently, he had been as much at a loss over Avon's decline as Tarrant was. Tarrant had tried to pick up some of the slack, but that hadn't gone over well with Avon, and finally he'd just let it go. Now he wished he'd tried harder, not because of any fondness for Avon--he didn't especially like him, he told himself--but because he had an idea where Avon was coming from. If it hurt this much to lose Zeeona, Dayna and the Scorpio, how much worse for Avon to lose Blake, Anna Grant, Cally and Liberator, and now Dayna too.

At least Zeeona had not betrayed Tarrant the way Anna had betrayed Avon.

Tarrant heaved a sigh, feeling just plain miserable, and wondered why he felt a sudden prodding to do something about Blake. He didn't know what it was exactly, but Blake was found and that meant something. He frowned. He didn't think he cared much for Blake right now, especially since Blake had seemed willing to hold his father against him. It hardly matched his expectations of the man.

Damn him. Tarrant grimaced, uncertain of whether his curse was meant for Dev Tarrant or Roj Blake, or perhaps both of them.

He noticed Vila's worried face and smoothed away his frown. "Now what, Vila?"

"I said I think someone's coming," Vila repeated uneasily, pointing toward the mouth of the tunnel. "And that means trouble. What're you going to do about it? Better be quick."

When Tarrant drew his gun, the gesture alerted Avon, who raised eyes filled with exhaustion, pain and a kind of helpless defeat, before he reached for his own gun. His movements were so full of weariness that Tarrant felt a tug of reluctant sympathy for him.

"Hold your fire!" a voice called suddenly. "I'm not Federation."

"Approach with your hands above your head," Tarrant called back "And I'd better not see a weapon anyplace where you can get at it."

"I agree. I'm coming in now."

The man who entered didn't look Federation and he wasn't in uniform. Hands raised in compliance to Tarrant's order, he stood in the circle of light from the lantern they'd found in a wall niche and looked about quickly "Blake," he breathed, noting the unconscious man, then he turned to Tarrant, whom he evidently perceived to be in charge. "My gun's in the holster," he remarked. "I didn't feel quite comfortable tossing it away with the woods crawling with troopers. If it makes you feel better, one of you can hold it for the time being."

Tarrant hesitated fractionally to see if Avon would give the order, and when Avon didn't, he said, "Soolin?" She retrieved the gun and set it out of the stranger's reach.

He was a comfortable looking man in his middle to late 50s, putting on flesh now though the remnants of a lean hardness still showed in the muscles of his arms and the set of his jaw. His eyebrows were dark and rather full, but what was left of his hair, a few strands on top and longish at the back, was grey. His eyes were dark brown, his nose was straight and he wore a dark mustache. He looked generally affable, but he wasn't a man to be trifled with. His features were smooth and regular, and from the appraising look Soolin gave him, Tarrant realized that women would probably find him attractive.

He said calmly, "I'm glad to see Blake alive. How bad is it? I was sure he'd be in trouble when I heard the alarms, and I thought he'd get out this way. With any luck, one of you is Avon." His eyes moved unerringly to Avon, who nodded slightly. "Good," the man continued. "He's been hoping you'd come. Would you be Tarrant, then? He was leery of you because of your father, but I think perhaps he was wrong, and I'm not saying that because I'm a fellow pilot. Academy trained, back a good many years and independent for the past 20. I'm Bond Dravot, Blake's pilot. If we're lucky, we can get him to his ship and abandon this beknighted world."

"We might require something more than your say so as proof of that," Avon told him coldly.

"It's...all right, Avon." Blake's voice was weak and unsteady, but alert. "You can..'trust Dravot." He shifted uncomfortably. "We won't have...much time. If Commissioner Sleer was behind this..."

"Servalan," Avon snarled, and Tarrant stiffened at the thought. It should have occurred to him long ago, but it hadn't. Damn.

"Servalan?" Dravot echoed. "Sleer? The same? We never made the connection, but I buy it. Blake said Sleer took after Servalan, but we'd heard she was dead. All the more reason to get out of here. Can you walk, Blake?"

"No, he can't," put in Soolin hastily. "He'll only break his wound open again. We'll have to carry him."

"I'll do it," offered Dravot. "I'd let you do it, Tarrant, but you look a little the worse for wear." Tarrant shot him a resentful glance, but he suspected the man was probably right. There had been too much going on to remind him of his scrapes and bruises but they hadn't gone away.

After the initial reaction to the mention of Sleer, Avon's attention had returned to Blake, though Tarrant guessed he'd take out Dravot at the first hint of trouble. Finding Blake, hearing Blake had sold him even if it wasn't true, and then seeing Blake shot before his eyes had affected him badly. Maybe they'd have been better off not even looking for Blake.

Dravot picked up Blake as if he were weightless, and Blake moaned faintly, causing Avon to shift closer threateningly. "Easy now," soothed Dravot, and Tarrant wondered which man he meant to comfort. Avon backed off, though he didn't lower his guard.

It wasn't as far to Blake's ship as they'd expected. The tunnel led out into the trees, but that was intended to discourage the Federation, should they get that far. The ground was rocky, too hard to take a trail, but Dravot let the way without hesitation to a second, well concealed underground passage. He was breathing a little heavier for carrying Blake, but not as much as Tarrant would have expected.

The second passage was shorter and ended in a heavy metal door, sealed with a lock that Dravot bypassed by punching up the code while steadying Blake with one hand. The door slid aside on a vast chamber mostly filled with Blake's ship. It was a modified planet hopper or meant to look like one, but Tarrant could recognize several useful modification and suspected that the ship would be both fast and maneuverable. He doubted it would have  _Scorpio's_  speed or  _Liberator's_  invulnerability, but it would get them off planet and away from the Federation.

No one was on board, and after Avon insisted on a search to make certain the tension let up a little. When Blake was lowered to a couch on the flight deck, he was unconscious again and Dravot left him to Vila and Soolin, who checked his wound again, and moved to the controls, followed by Tarrant.

"Won't we be detected if we take off now?" Tarrant asked.

"Probably. That's why we're not leaving yet. I want to make sure we have the best chance possible. I wish we could monitor the base."

"We need Orac," Tarrant exclaimed. "Avon, we need Orac."

"I am aware of that."

"Well, where is it?"

"Somewhere you will never find it, Tarrant."

"Somewhere Servalan won't find it either?" asked Soolin. "You didn't take Orac into the base, Avon. Can't we send for it now?"

"I will go," Avon decided. "Alone," he added when Tarrant stepped forward, checking the charge of his weapon.

"I'm not particularly worried about you, Avon," Tarrant snapped, "But Orac might stand a better chance if someone went along to watch your back."

Avon refused to back down.

"I go alone," he insisted.

"Avon," Vila began sharply, then he lowered his eyes again. "Never mind," he muttered.

His meaning got through anyway. "You  _are_  planning on coming back, aren't you?" demanded Tarrant.

"Why should you care?"

"I don't, but we stand a better chance with Orac." He added in a lower voice, "Blake stands a better chance."

Avon's eyes were like stones. "I do not answer to you," he said in measured tones.

"Oh, let him go," Vila urged in disgust. "We're better off without him anyway."

Tarrant wasn't certain he meant it, even if Vila had been more distant toward Avon since their return from Malodaar, but Avon looked at Vila when he spoke. Vila stared back steadily then glanced away, but Avon continued to watch him for several seconds, a momentary flash of something that might have been pain in his eyes.

He said flatly, "As I also need transportation off this world, I intend to return with Orac."

Vila didn't move or respond, but Tarrant thought he relaxed slightly. Soolin rose, hand on the butt of her gun. "I'll come with you," she offered. "I know this world and its dangers better than you do."

Avon considered it then nodded reluctantly. He stalked out without looking back, and Soolin shrugged and followed him.

There was a brief silence, then Dravot let out his breath explosively, "That's a dangerous man," he observed, "I don't think I'd want him behind me, especially if he was armed, I doubt he's quite sane."

"I doubt if any of us are sane any more," Tarrant returned, surprised at his need to defend Avon but compelled to do so. "He's been through a lot. We all have, but Avon's been through more, and he's had the responsibility for the rest of us in the bargain. I never liked to think him in charge, but he was. It's been so long since we've done anything but survive that we've forgotten what it was like to win."

Dravot's face softened slightly. "If nothing else, you've had each other," he offered consolingly.

"For what that's worth," muttered Vila without enthusiasm.

Blake's pilot eyed Vila. "What did he do to make you doubt him?"

Vila flushed. "Nothing."

"Nothing, is it? You present the appearance of a man who's clearly torn. You didn't really want him to walk out of here and never come back, but part of you did."

"Then it's my business, innit?"

"Easy, lad. I didn't mean to pry, but it looks like I'm stuck with you, at least till we get offworld and go to ground someplace safer. If I'm to watch my back, I'd like to know who to protect myself against. I wouldn't have expected it to be Avon. Blake talks about him, you see."

"If Blake's been telling you good things about him, he doesn't remember him very well," Tarrant replied. "Avon's a cold-hearted bastard who'd as soon shoot you as look at you. I used to believe he wouldn't shoot you in the back but would wait until you turned around, but he's...changed. You can only make allowances so far before the risk becomes too great. It did for Vila on a shuttle over the planet Malodaar."

Vila glared at him. "I never said..."

"You didn't have to. It was obvious. Avon's dangerous to us, and he's even more dangerous to himself, but I don't imagine he can help it. We could watch out for each other before, when we had our base and our own ship, and he watched out for us against the Federation. He has survival instincts."

Vila shook his head in hasty denial. "You mean he  _had_  survival instincts, Tarrant. I don't think he does any more. I think you killed them when you said Blake had betrayed him. Blake was all he had left."

"But he knows it wasn't true," Tarrant insisted. "Blake didn't betray I can't understand why he would believe me over Blake."

"That's fine, Tarrant, if you're rational enough to reason it out. I don't think Avon is any more. Maybe it will help if Blake's all right, but I don't know." He added in a small voice, "It used to be...different.

"It won't help to have a post mortem now," Dravot cut in smoothly. "This ship doesn't have a medical unit but we've got supplies. While we wait, I'll take a look at Blake's wound." He crossed the flight deck as he spoke and removed equipment and supplies from a compartment. Tarrant was relieved to see proper medications, synth flesh spray, antibiotics, blood replacement drugs. "You take over the preflight, Tarrant," Dravot called over his shoulder. "Vila will help me with Blake."

It was a sign of how spent they were that the two of them went to according to instructions without a single complaint.

The mood did not improve appreciably when Avon and Soolin returned with Orac, but Blake was stabilized and that helped. At that point, even minor triumphs were enough to count for something. Blake was a little better and they had Orac. It created a heady sense of possibility that none of them had expected, and Vila, who still felt annoyingly ambivalent about Avon, and maybe Blake, and who resented it, curled himself up on the second couch and wished for a drink. After everything Avon had done, Vila wanted to hate him. It would have been far easier if he could do so, but something stopped him, no matter how hard he tried. He could resent Tarrant most of the time but he couldn't entirely hate Avon, and that was stupid. He must be as big a fool as Avon had always insisted if he could still feel something for the man who'd tried to kill him. Knowing Avon hadn't been entirely rational at the time helped him logically, but feelings aren't logical, and Vila was heartsick. He knew he had never expected much from Avon, but he hadn't expected Avon to actively seek his life either A part of him suspected he could never trust Avon again. But his unwelcome concern belied that, and he'd experienced a treacherous wave of relief when Avon returned bearing Orac. Vila tried to insist it was because he was glad to see Soolin and because Orac increased their chances, but he knew it wasn't entirely true. Avon  _had_  been right. Vila was a fool.

Avon promptly set Orac the task of monitoring the base then he withdrew to a corner of the flight deck--where he had a good view of Blake--and sat down, folding his arms across his chest.

Dravot, who had been monitoring communications, changed positions so he could watch Avon, and Vila nodded approvingly. Dravot was good at it, and he was clever enough to suspect Avon. Maybe with his help, they could get off Gauda Prime, and then Vila would find himself a bolthole. He could blend into any background; he was better equipped than any of them to remain hidden, even in plain sight.

That's it, he'd find a nice world and settle down to a life of healthy thievery, raise a couple of kids, live the good life. Safe. Away from here.

Away from Avon

Vila made a wry face. He was dreaming. He doubted if it would ever happen. He wasn't even sure he  _wanted_  it to happen, and what did that say for his survival instincts? The last thing he needed was to trail after a homicidal lunatic who just might try to kill him again.

"How well shielded is this hangar?" asked Tarrant. He'd been exploring the ship, popping back to the flight deck from time to time, and this time, he sat down at Dravot's vacated position and began to massage his sore muscles. If Dayna had been there, she might have given him a neck rub, but Dayna-- Vila closed his eyes momentarily in pain.

"Exceptionally well shielded," replied Dravot, turning to include Avon, who sat up straighter at the question. Vila suspected he'd been halfway to falling asleep.

"I'm going to take us out of here at midnight," the pilot continued. "There are only two pursuit ships in orbit; the rest of them are grounded here and in the city. If we head away from the base and the paths of those orbiting ships, I think we've a good chance of getting clean away. This is a fast ship. We've got near the equivalent of a photonic drive, and we're heavily armed. Blake used to regret the ship wasn't bigger because it can't hold many people for any length of time. He used to talk about your  _Liberator_  and reminisce. I think he missed you all more than you know."

At the sentiment, Avon looked impatient. "Just where do you intend to take us?" he asked coldly.

"I intend to take  _Blake_  to a safe place to recuperate," Dravot returned pointedly. "The rest of you are welcome to come that far." He leaned back in his seat and stroked his mustache idly, a man in control of himself and for the moment in charge and likely to stay that way. "I haven't seen anything about you or your companions that would make me want to throw in my lot with you yet. Before you tell me you're not interested, remember this is Blake's ship and I work for Blake. I trust him more than I trust you." He grinned. "Don't worry, though. I don't like the Federation and even if you were all cutthroats and murderers..."

"Aren't we?" Soolin muttered under her breath.

"...I'd still get you off GP because it's what Blake would want. He's not quite ready to give orders yet, so we'll do what he'd expect in the meantime."

"I doubt that." Tarrant sounded defensive. "He'd expect you to throw me off the ship." Bitterness ran through his voice like oil in water.

"Would he now?" Dravot cocked his head and stared at Tarrant. "No, I don't think so. I understand his hesitation. When he learned you were one of Avon's crew, he researched you to see if you were kin to Dev Tarrant. But you're not your father, Tarrant. Blake would take precautions, but I don't believe he'd toss you out. A fair man, Blake."

"I noticed," Tarrant muttered sourly.

" _I_  didn't notice," Avon disagreed. Vila doubted it was meant to be wholly in support of Tarrant.

"Of course not, Avon.

Then tell me why you're here."

"To use him," Avon replied promptly. "The rebellion needs a figurehead, someone the rabble will follow, someone easily manipulated."

"The rabble already follows him, but whether you can manipulate him or not is another story. How well did you manage on Liberator? He's far more stubborn now, and suspicious with it. Life hasn't treated you well since Star One. They say you've been through a lot." Avon distributed a look of fierce affront impartially about the flight deck. "But so has Blake," Dravot continued. "I won't go into it save you need to know his life hasn't been easy since you parted. He's learned to be suspicious. It goes against the grain, and I don't know how thoroughly he's learned that lesson. It never extended to you, Avon."

Avon's face did not soften one iota. Dravot studied him carefully and shook his head.

As he listened, Tarrant sat monitoring transmissions, and Vila watched him idly; it was easier than watching Avon. The  _Liberator_  days seemed long ago, and Avon had changed a lot since then. Vila sighed, his eyes on Tarrant, his thoughts elsewhere, as Tarrant's hand moved idly across the panel toward the transmit button. The transmit button? Vila came upright abruptly, his feet hitting the deck with an audible thump that turned everyone in his direction. Tarrant's hand fell away from the button as if it was there by accident. "Nightmares, Vila?" he asked easily. There was nothing threatening in his eyes, nothing unusual, nothing different

Had he imagined it?

If he said anything to Avon, Avon would probably dump Tarrant off the ship right before launch and let him fry in the exhaust. Soolin was suspicious of all of them already. Dravot? His loyalty was to Blake and to this ship, and he would protect both. But Tarrant looked completely innocent of anything resembling betrayal, and Tarrant wasn't that good an actor. Vila decided he'd better say nothing. The others had had enough of people crying wolf already. If Tarrant had meant to give them away with a signal, which was crazy, better he didn't know Vila was onto him. Vila would simply watch him and see if anything else happened. Then he'd tell somebody about it. He'd decide who to tell when the time came.

"Just stretching my legs," he mumbled, straightening with a show of offended dignity. "It's getting pretty bad around here when a chap can't get comfortable without everybody on the ship making a fuss."

"Try getting comfortable more quietly," said Avon.

As a retort it was sub-par; in fact all of Avon's reactions seemed muted. Vila couldn't find it in himself to snap back. Maybe it wasn't Avon's fault. Could you ever blame a madman for his actions?

Tarrant relaxed again, his hands nowhere near the controls. He looked half asleep, and Avon looked three quarters asleep. They all needed rest. Vila caught Dravot's eye, wondering if the pilot could find a subtle way to send people to their cabins for some much needed sleep, but uncertain if separating was really such a good idea. At least here on the flight deck, they could watch each other.

Dravot smiled faintly and opened another compartment, removing what looked like a hand carved guitar made of wood. Rare and valuable by he look of it. He began to strum it softly, his fingers picking out a soft and soothing melody, and Vila began to relax immediately. "We've time to kill," said Dravot softly. "A little music will help to pass the time."

"Will it?" Avon responded sardonically. "How charming."

"I rather like it," Soolin disagreed, more to score off Avon than anything, but from the looks she kept casting in his direction, Vila suspected she would have agreed with Dravot anyway.

Gradually the music drifted from random chords to a familiar old score, ancient music that had come down through the centuries virtually unchanged. Vila felt himself relaxing as Dravot's warm and mellow baritone reminded them of the lyrics and took them out of themselves, if only for a brief interval.

 _"Hey, Mister Tambourine Man, playa song for me,_  
I'm not sleepy and there ain't no place I'm going to.   
Hey, Mister Tambourine Man, playa song for me,   
In the jingle, jangle morning I'll come followin' you.   
I know my evening's empire has returned into sand,   
Vanished from my hand,   
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleepin'.   
My weariness amazes me,   
I'm branded on my feet,   
I have no one to meet,   
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreamin'.   
Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,   
My senses have been stripped,   
My hands can't feel to grip,   
My toes too numb to step   
Wait only for my boot heels to be wanderinl.   
I'm ready to go anywhere   
I'm ready for to fade   
Into my own parade.   
Cast your magic spell, I promise to go under it.   
Though you might hear laughin' , spinnin', swingin' madly through the sun,   
It's not aimed at anyone,   
It's just escapin' on the run,   
And but for the sky there are no fences facin',   
And if you hear vague traces   
Of skippin' reels of rhyme   
To your tambourine in time,   
It's just a ragged clown behind,   
I wouldn't pay it any mind,   
It's just a shadow you're seein' that he's chasin'...."

Even Avon listened, relaxing slightly as Dravot sang. The older man watched a vision he saw in the music, though Vila suspected he was more aware of the rest of them than he appeared. As for Vila, he drew his knees up to his chin, folded his arms across them and went on watching Tarrant. The curly haired young man simply sat, his face at peace, curiously charmed by the music as if he welcomed the memories it stirred within. After the second chorus, he joined in with a surprisingly true voice, blending in harmony with Dravot, who focused on him sharply in delighted reaction.

It proved one of the happiest times Vila could recall in years, all the more so because it came out of such a string of tragedies, dropping the momentary blessing of peace upon them all. It was all he could do to stay awake, because he felt so relaxed and comfortable. To his astonishment, Avon did fall asleep, gradually sliding sideways in his chair until his head was resting against the wall, his eyelids drooping shut. Dravot noticed and the warm twinkle in his dark eyes registered his satisfaction, but he kept singing, blending his voice with Tarrant's in rich harmony until the song was finished.

Wisely, he began another song immediately, prolonging the mood, and Tarrant joined in this one too. It was an old song of the barracks, probably one they'd both learned at the academy, a tale of soldiers far from home, dreaming dreams about the girls they'd left behind and the plans they made for the days when their service was over. Though Vila lacked the military background to appreciate it properly, its poignant melody and wistful lyrics stirred something inside and he shared a companionable smile with Soolin.

Blake shifted position and Vila realized he was awake and listening. Perhaps Dravot knew it too, for he swept into another ballad affecting the old Welsh accent Vila remembered Blake adopting sometimes when he sang. Unfamiliar with the words of this one, Tarrant dropped out, picking up on the refrain, and Blake joined in for a stanza or two though his voice lacked its usual timber.

When they finished, Dravot set the guitar carefully aside and went to Blake, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Well, my friend," he said quietly, "Is it easier?"

"A little. It's sore, but I'm more comfortable. I'm glad to see your guitar made it off the base. Where are we? Not in space?"

"No, we're waiting for the optimum time to sneak offworld. Everything's under control for the moment. If they had Orac, they might find us, but we have that 'privilege.'" He sounded slightly doubtful, and Vila grinned, recalling Dravot's surprised reaction to the recalcitrant super computer.

That won a tired grin from Blake. "I think I could even put up with Orac again. It's been a long time." He glanced around the flight deck, and his eyes softened when he saw Avon sleeping. Vila smothered a chuckle at the sight. At least in sleep he wasn't lashing out at anyone with his acid tongue, and he didn't look quite so hard--or so mad. Vila sighed, his desire to laugh vanishing. Maybe Blake could help Avon find himself. If Blake couldn't, then no one could.

"We've plans to make," Dravot reminded everyone. "Orac might be useful. I thought we should head for Zardo. We've got contacts there and we could go to ground until you're back on your feet."

"What about the others?" Blake asked. "My people?"

"Nobody else made it this far," Dravot replied gently. "I'm sorry. Deva is dead, and Klyn, and some of the others. But the alarm went in time. This isn't the only ship, and there are a lot of passages. Many of them will get away."

Blake's eyes were bright with the easy tears of the convalescent but he didn't let them fall. "Then it's all to do over again."

His voice was so full of despair that Vila, who preferred not to get caught up in other people's wars, said quickly, "Never mind, Blake, you've got us again. We'll help you."

His voice was so full of despair that Vila, who preferred not to get caught up in other people's wars, said quickly, "Never mind, Blake, you've got us again. We'll help you."

"Will you, Vila? All of you? Avon's more likely to shoot me, and I haven't exactly been fair to Tarrant."

"Let it go, Blake," Tarrant put in quickly. "I've seen how people react to my father. I'd hold it against the son of someone who betrayed me too, until I learned the truth. We didn't meet in the best of circumstances."

Whether he was really so forgiving or not Vila didn't know, but it was not the best time to show hostility to Blake, and for once, Tarrant had the sense to hold back his anger. Later on, perhaps, they could have it out, but for now, Blake was not strong enough, and another of his dreams had died. Tarrant would have needed to be a worse bastard than Avon to go for him now.

"We'll work it out later then," Blake replied. "I appreciate that, and I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry I took it wrong," Tarrant conceded. "I told Avon you'd sold us. That could have been nasty." He sighed and darted an uneasy glance at Avon to make sure he hadn't been overheard. "Were you really a bounty hunter, Blake? That's the reason Avon was so primed to expect betrayal, you know. Men with large prices on their heads don't go willingly into a bounty hunter's den."

"Yes, I was a bounty hunter," Blake replied. "Hunting rebels to join my cause. The criminals I passed along, but the rebels I tested and invited to join me. It's worked so far."

"So well that Arlen infiltrated your group. It sounds a dangerous game," Soolin criticized. "I've heard a lot of stories about you, Blake, mostly from Vila. I think your dream of freedom for the masses sometimes overwhelms what common sense you might possess. Even more dangerous, you can inspire people to follow you." Her eyes darted over to the sleeping Avon, and Blake followed her look in surprise.

"Avon never followed me," he burst out, "He never believed in my cause,"

"He believed in Roj Blake," corrected Soolin. "For all intents and purposes, it's the same thing. Then you went off and left him. He'd finally found someone he could believe in, someone he didn't' expect to betray him, and you proved he'd been right not to trust. What did he matter to you, or Vila or Cally, when it came to your noble cause? Any cause that forgets the human people involved in it isn't worth the effort. We might as well have the Federation back again. I don't intend to follow you, Blake."

He looked hurt but he was too weak to fight back. Dravot intervened again, strolling over to Soolin and dropping an arm around her shoulders. She fell silent as if she'd been gagged and looked up at him expectantly.

 _If the bastard bottled his charm, he'd make a fortune_ , thought Vila cynically.

"Why don't we let Blake rest now," suggested Dravot, and there was no criticism in his voice, nothing but concern for Blake and concern for the rest of them too. "We'll be making our escape in another hour. What do you say to naps for everyone? There are two small cabins. Take one, Soolin. You have the other, Tarrant, because I'll need you when we take off. Vila, you can have the couch you're curled up on. Blake said you manned the weapons position on  _Liberator_ , so you can do the same here."

"What about Avon?" Blake asked. "He'll wake up with a crick in his neck and be unmanageable as a result."

"I don't know about the rest of you." Soolin moved away from Dravot as if determined to discount his personal magnetism. "But I want no part in waking Avon up."

"She's right," agreed Vila. "None of us are suicidal, Blake. He'll come up shooting, see if he doesn't. You don't know how close you came to getting your nose blown off back there. Let him be. He deserves a stiff neck."

Speculation flashed in Blake's eyes and he considered Vila thoughtfully, but he didn't take it any further. Dravot waved them away and Tarrant and Soolin went out together. Though he was spent, Vila remained sitting up, his chin on his folded arms, while Dravot gave Blake a drink of water and a sedative, then stood guard over him until the rebel leader slept again.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" Vila asked when Dravot moved away from Blake's side.

"No, one of us must stay alert, and I think I'm the freshest." He sat at the other end of Vila's couch and lowered his voice. "Out with it. Something's wrong."

Vila surprised himself. "It's Tarrant," he admitted. "Before you got out the guitar, he was sitting there at the comm console and it looked like he was going to transmit something. Tarrant's no traitor, at least he's never shown any signs of it before. Nasty and arrogant as he can be, but he hates the Federation. I can't see him turning against us, even if Blake didn't treat him right. A Federation plot killed his brother, and just now Dayna..." Vila let his voice trail off and it was several minutes before he could go on.  _You're tired. Vila_ , he thought.  _We're all tired_. "I don't think he'd sell us. He looked like he didn't even know he was doing it. I think we should watch him."

"And watch him I will," Dravot promised. "Now you need sleep, Vila. Blake informs me you like adrenalin and soma. I think we have some here. Let me see." He opened the same cabinet that had held his guitar and produced a bottle and two glasses, pouring a small amount into his own and considerably more in Vila's. "There. Drink up, my friend."

"You're a man after my own heart," cried Vila gratefully and downed the contents in one swallow.

#

 

Preparations for launch woke Avon and he started up, momentarily confused. Where was he and what had happened? When everyone turned to stare at him, he glared at them, eased back into his chair and dropped his hand from his gun.

"We're in launch phase, Avon," explained Dravot quickly. "Secure yourself for take off." None of the others spoke to him. Avon fastened the restraint, his eyes probing the room. Blake was still there, stretched out on one of the couches, still unconscious but looking somewhat better. That was good. Avon had a great many questions for Roj Blake, questions that would not receive answers if Blake died. Unprepared to admit to further concern, Avon watched Tarrant and Dravot work together as if they'd done it for years, smoothly preparing the ship. Vila sat at the weapons position and Soolin manned communications, monitoring Federation communications. There was an unmanned position which looked as if it had a computer tie in, and Avon considered taking it, but decided not to bother. Let the fools make their own mistakes.

He had already made too many of his own.

Rejecting that unwelcome thought, Avon concentrated on the launch as if it was the only important thing in the universe. It would be soon enough to consider his options when they left Gauda Prime behind, the primary one being freeing himself from this lot and finding himself a satisfactory bolthole. He had reluctantly assumed Blake's mantle with the  _Liberator_  crew and then the  _Scorpio_ , but Blake was back and Blake was perfectly capable of resuming the responsibility that had once been his. Avon had kept faith with Blake, whether he deserved it or not, and now, Blake could take over.

As for Avon, he would be better off elsewhere. That his mind refused to calculate any reasonable possibilities was a minor problem. He only wanted to detach himself from any further involvement with any of these people.

"Launch bay doors opening," Soolin reported. "We are clear."

"Orac, monitor Federation transmissions and scramble any reports of us and the launch," Tarrant ordered smoothly.

The computer chose not to complain, making an oddly human sound before going to work.

"Course laid in," Dravot reported as the launch began.

Avon tensed. He knew the Federation must be searching for stragglers and that they would face their greatest danger while still in the atmosphere, but Dravot seemed prepared for that.

"Any ships, Orac?" he asked as he maneuvered the vessel into optimum position. With Tarrant backing him, they had the best chance possible, though Avon did not delude himself that it was a good chance. He knew Tarrant's piloting skills, but it seemed unlikely they would be lucky enough to get a clear shot at escape.

"There are two Federation pursuit ships in orbit at this time," Orac returned. "Other vessels, registered as merchants, traders, freight vessels, and planet hoppers, have been calculated and are also being monitored. The two Federation vessels have not yet altered course."

"Give us a report the minute they do," ordered Tarrant. He studied the screen which displayed a schematic grid spread across a starfield. Until they could clear the atmosphere, they would be vulnerable, and the grid pattern was useful to identify and locate hostile ships. Vessels were displayed in red. It was a clear and well designed field and Avon felt a momentary curiosity about the small ship, but discounted it immediately. This ship might be efficient and fast, but it was too small for their use.

It might be a suitable vessel for his own. He shot a proprietary look around the flight deck.

"Federation ships moving," Orac reported. "Estimated rendezvous time 23.9 minutes."

"We'll be out of the atmosphere before then," Dravot returned. "Orac, have you considered this vessel's top speed in your calculations?"

"Of course I have," snapped Orac. "This ship is capable of exceeding the top speed of pursuit ships in deep space. Any other vessels launched from the surface will have no opportunity of catching us unless the two ships in orbit can delay us until pursuit arrives. Our fire power is superior to that of the two pursuit ships. I recommend evading or dispatching them with all possible speed. I have scrambled signals from the orbiting ships to the ground, but pursuit will inevitably follow."

Tarrant worked frantically. "Maybe if we alter course," he proposed, directing Dravot to his projection. They bent over it together, then Dravot nodded.

"Yes, it could work. Do it."

Avon saw Vila stare at Tarrant, speculation flaring briefly in his eyes, and Avon frowned. Vila was a fool, but he sometimes noticed things that other people missed. What was he considering about Tarrant now? Narrowing his eyes, Avon watched Tarrant too, but he could notice nothing unusual. At times like this, he could appreciate the young pilot's skill, though the man's arrogance and recklessness irritated him. Pilots of Tarrant's caliber were rare, but from the look of it, Dravot just might be another. If Vila had discovered something wrong about Tarrant, then perhaps Dravot's skill made Tarrant redundant.

"How are we doing?"

Blake's question spun Avon around abruptly and he undid his restraints and crossed to Blake's position. "We're facing two pursuit ships," he reported tersely. "Stay quiet and do not interfere."

Blake raised his eyes and held Avon's, a trace of amusement in his face. "How you must have missed telling me what to do, Avon," he said softly.

Oh now, that was unfair. The last thing Avon wanted from him was affection and humor. He had deliberately remembered Blake's bad qualities during the two years they had been apart; it was much easier to recall Blake's obsession with his cause, his manipulativeness, the stubborn drive that overwhelmed people like a steamroller, his willingness to sacrifice friends for his beliefs. But sometimes he had dreamed of Blake and remembered another side of him; the humor that lurked in his eyes, his warmth and strength, the enjoyment of a challenge between them, the bond that Avon preferred to deny. It would have been easy to respond to Blake as Blake hoped he would, but Avon had never taken the easy way, knowing that perils and pitfalls were often waiting along that road. It was far safer to go the harder road where every danger was clearly visible, to be met with his skill and his wits.

"Not all of us are such masochists, Blake," he returned in a voice devoid of humor, and Blake's face fell. Bad. Usually Blake could conceal such reactions, but perhaps he wasn't strong enough yet.

"Pursuit ships falling behind," Tarrant observed triumphantly.

"Not far enough. Plasma bolt fired," Vila reported uneasily. "Blake I hope your ship has good shielding."

That was Vila. He'd buy a pig in a poke and then spend interminable hours complaining of the problems that invariably followed.

But this time Vila was right. Avon shot Blake a demanding look, and Blake nodded. "Nothing but the best. I think this would be a good time to put up the force wall."

Dravot reached for the controls as Blake spoke, and when the plasma bolt impacted, they were tossed around a bit but the force wall held. On his feet, Avon almost pitched forward, regaining his balance realizing he had automatically put out a hand to steady Blake. He didn't care for the realization. Abruptly he turned and marched back to his seat, conscious of Blake's eyes on his back the whole way.

"Another shot," Soolin called. She did not sound unduly concerned.

"We'll outrun this one," returned Dravot with easy confidence. He turned to grin broadly at Tarrant, who returned the smile as the plasma bolt fell behind. Freed of the atmosphere, the ship seemed to leap forward

"How long can we run at maximum?" asked Tarrant

"Long enough to get out of range. The minute we are, we change course When we get a little further out of the system, we'll activate detector shielding."

"It's a modified version of your own, Avon," Blake explained.

"Indeed." Avon sounded indifferent. "Modified in what way?"

"I'll let you strip it down once we reach Zardo," Dravot volunteered. "I've made a few slight modifications since we're dealing with a smaller ship and different drive. I think you'll like it. Maybe you can fine tune it and make it more efficient."

"Assuming I should bother."

"It's for our own protection, Avon," Vila interjected.

"Is it? This ship is not mine, nor is it yours. Once we reach Zardo, I will be a free agent. You were a part of Blake's crew in the past and you will be again. My part in it will be finished. Knowing Blake, he will once again begin his crusade, and here are three of you, ready followers."

"Not likely, Avon," Soolin denied. "I've already told Blake I won't follow him. I've a useful skill to sell. When we reach Zardo, I'll go my own way as well,"

"Wise of you." He was surprised Soolin had stayed with them as long as she had, but he had reached the conclusion that she had no place else to go. Banded together for safety, they had been of some use to each other but anyone was free to depart. As for Vila and Tarrant, they could stay with Blake. Then Avon would no longer be forced to deal with them. He wondered why Soolin had chosen to reject Blake, but he was not curious enough to inquire. It was her business and as long as it did not threaten him, he did not care.

"Just a minute, Avon," snapped Tarrant. "You're not in charge of our lives."

"Did I claim to be?"

"He means you can't just turn us over to Blake," Vila explained uneasily.

"Surely you cannot wish to stay with  _me_ , Vila," Avon purred. "Since it has proven so safe in the past. You would be a fool to trust me."

"I didn't say I trusted you, did I?" Vila shot back. "But you've always said I was a fool, so why should now be different. I'll do what I choose, Avon. You won't arrange it."

"It's hardly the time to worry about who will go where," Dravot interjected. "Suppose we wait until we reach Zardo safely before everyone decides what to do next. Zardo's not a Federated world, and that should give everyone their preference." He added severely to Avon, "Before you calmly assign people to Blake, you should make sure he wants them."

Avon gave Blake a sharp, affronted look then retreated into himself.

This whole discussion was pointless. He didn't care what happened to anyone. He just wanted an ending, and with it, peace. He was tired, tired of running, tired of considering the others in his equation, tired of seeking answers, of seeking Blake. He wanted an end. The thought of going to sleep and not waking had a curious appeal, but a part of his mind rejected the idea. That stubborn core of himself still considered the others' reaction to his death. While he told himself he didn't care what anyone thought or felt, that one small part remembered himself bending over Cally's twisted body, holding Anna while her life slipped away. Empathy was not one of Avon's strong points, but he knew all about loss, and he didn't like it. The others didn't deserve�

Did he care about the others? He noticed Vila watching him surreptitiously, and remembered all too vividly the look on Vila's face when he emerged from his hiding place on Egrorian's shuttle. Vila had turned against him now, as well he should. Vila wouldn't care what happened to him. Tarrant never had and Soolin had always held herself aloof. Good.

That left only Blake, and Blake was the unknown element in the equation. Blake was a fool who cared for his followers, right until he got them killed, the way he'd got Gan killed. Remembering Blake's agonizing over Gan afterwards, Avon shook his head. Blake's concern for Gan had done the big man no good, just as his concern would not aid Avon now. Better for everyone concerned that he turn Blake against him too, the way held done the others. Only then would he be truly free.

He smiled. He'd help them reach Zardo, but he'd hold aloof from them all on the way, aloof enough to give Blake a healthy disgust of him, to make Dravot suspicious enough to caution Blake against him, to finish up any foolish loyalty Vila might still possess.

Then, when the others were safe on Zardo and no longer cared what might happen to Avon, he could depart and maybe he could find peace. Yes. That would be best.

Blake watched him suspiciously. Avon threw a sneer in his direction and went to the computer position. He sat down, conscious of everyone's eyes upon him, and brought the screen to life. In a few minutes he was working busily, monitoring Federation ships, demanding information on ship resources, planning strategies. Vila drifted over and peered over his shoulder, and Vila knew enough of both ships and computers to make out what he was doing, so maybe Vila would back off and leave him alone.

But Vila stood behind him a long time, almost close enough to touch, and when Avon became uncomfortable at such a blatant invasion of his personal space and turned to glare at Vila, he surprised a look in Vila's eyes that reminded him of the times before Malodaar, even before Terminal. Vila met his stare defiantly and let his resentment show, but even Avon could tell it was partially manufactured. Vila had not completely turned against him. Damn it.

"I do not now nor shall I ever need your dubious assistance when I am working," Avon informed Vila icily.

Though uneasiness flickered in his eyes, Vila stood his ground. "It wasn't your work I was worried about, was it, then?" he said with a curious dignity.

"Then what? Do you suspect I mean to betray you all? A surprisingly intelligent concern, Vila. Have you perhaps had a logic transplant?"

"I'm not stupid, Avon," Vila snapped. "Think you can drive us away, do you?"

"I do think that, yes," he replied as if the idea had just occurred to him. "Continue this conversation and I will certainly do so."

"What are you so afraid of?" Vila asked wonderingly though he moved back just enough to give Avon physical comfort.

"Certainly not of you."

"No, you're afraid one of us will betray you," Vila insisted. "Tarrant told you Blake did, and even if it wasn't true, it made you consider the possibility, something you never did before. You're scared because you thought you had all of us blocked off, that nothing we could do would hurt you, but Tarrant made you realize you trusted Blake, and now you don't want to take any more chances. For a smart man, Avon, you're a bloody great fool. Have I ever betrayed you? Well, have I?"

Avon couldn't have been more surprised if Orac had kissed him. "You're only a Delta grade ignorant," he threw at Vila. "You're too stupid to betray anyone."

"It wouldn't have been that hard." Vila responded. "I had plenty of chances to turn on you, and I never did, even when you tried to kill me. Maybe that means I am a fool, or maybe it only means I used to care what happened to you. But I didn't betray you, and neither did Tarrant or Soolin. Or Cally or Dayna," he went on quickly, pain clearly visible in his eyes. "Blake didn't either. That was just Tarrant being Tarrant. Blake was suspicious of him but it wasn't anything to do with you. You see everything distorted by that huge ego of yours, and I'm sick of it. Go ahead and leave when we get to Zardo. See if I care."

Before Avon could speak, even if he'd been so inclined, Vila turned abruptly and blundered away, almost running from the flight deck.

Avon stood frozen staring after him, brought up short by an unexpected sound, and he looked up to see Dravot applauding, "Well done," the pilot praised the absent Vila, "I tip my hat to the lad."

Avon returned to his seat and very carefully shut down the computer position. When he had finished, he got up and walked off the flight deck careful to look at no one as he departed.

He intended to go in the opposite direction as Vila.

#

 

After Avon left, there was an awkward silence which Dravot filled with a flurry of piloting reports and ship business, directing Soolin to the position Avon had abandoned and asking for a schematic of the Zardo system. Tarrant stayed at his post, offering no comment, and from his expression, Blake could not guess his reaction to the outburst between Avon and Vila. Blake himself had been a helpless and unwilling witness to the entire altercation, still too weak to take an active part in the disagreement and too wary of the changes he saw in both men to plunge in and try to sort things out as he might have done on  _Liberator_. As for Tarrant and Soolin, he had no right to interfere with them, Soolin because she had disavowed any willingness to side with him and Tarrant because he'd misjudged him, blaming him for something beyond his control. Tarrant wasn't likely to heed him now.

But Avon was in a bad way; it was even noticeable to Dravot, who was a stranger to him, though Dravot was a perceptive man. Was Vila right that Avon meant to drive them all away to avoid the risk of betrayal, and if so, what had happened to make him so much more paranoid than before? The naked shock on his face when Tarrant had told him Blake had sold him had stunned Blake, and he realized his hopes that t he coming of Avon would mean a turnaround in his fortunes were groundless. Avon needed help, and now that the GP base had fallen, Blake doubted he was the person to give it. But his cause must wait now, partly because of his injury, but also because of Avon.

He'd meant to give Avon some space, to keep his word and leave the  _Liberator_  to his friend, but when nothing had gone as planned, he should have tried to contact Avon again. He had been reluctant to do so because he suspected Avon would have resented it, taking it as a display of mistrust, and perhaps Avon would, but he must have had expectations of Blake or he wouldn't have been so shocked at Tarrant's claim. Avon had always made it clear that relying on other people was a foolish mistake, but in spite of that, Blake must have got through to him. That meant Blake still had some influence over Avon, which surprised him, but it also implied responsibility. Avon would have scorned that assumption, and Blake understood why. He might be biting off more than he could chew. But Vila's persistence in spite of his ambivalent feelings for Avon had conveyed to Blake a sense of urgency. Vila was worried. He feared something more drastic than Avon's departure. What could it be? Not that Avon would turn on them, something worse. Suddenly Blake understood that Vila feared something much more final; he feared Avon's death. Suicide?

"Tarrant," said Blake urgently. "Tell me about Avon."

Tarrant threw him a glance of skeptical annoyance. "What would you like to hear, Blake. The easiest way to tell you is to say you've been well rid of him."

When Blake didn't immediately respond, Tarrant shook his head impatiently. "No, that's wrong. If you'd come back after Star One, we might not be in this position now. I can't count the number of times we went rushing into danger simply because there was a rumor you might be there. We lost the  _Liberator_  and Cally because Avon went chasing after you again. The worst thing I could have done was to tell him you'd sold him--but what else was I to think? Damn you, Blake, finding you was the only chance he had of--"

"Of staying sane," Soolin finished. "Well, now we've made certain he can't hold on, haven't we? If this is what allies do to each other, I'd hate to think what Servalan could do to us."

"Time out," Dravot cut in sharply. "Everybody back off. Let's do this calmly, folks. Blake, you're concerned about Avon. I know from everything you've said about him that you remember him kindly, though right now I'm at a loss to understand why."

"He's changed," Blake muttered succinctly

"Obviously, and what changed him must include many factors. I don't think we'll sort them out right now, but you're a different man yourself, Blake, more suspicious than you were when I met you. Short of Deva and me--and Jenna," he added sympathetically, "I don't think you've lowered your guard to any of your people since you founded the base. If a basically gregarious man like you can be changed by circumstances beyond your control, think how much worse it would be for someone like Avon. I have a feeling you were the one incontrovertible fact in his life, even if he didn't admit it to himself. Somewhere out there was Roj Blake, a man he could trust in spite of everything. Then when you finally met again, Tarrant says you've sold him out. He doesn't want to believe it, but everyone else has turned on him. If you do too, he's got nothing left. How close am I, Tarrant?"

"Dead on," Tarrant confirmed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "The disgusting thing is that I knew that. I believed you'd sold us, Blake. You didn't let me think anything else. But a part of me reveled in telling Avon. If true, I had to warn him, but I didn't have to enjoy it. I should apologize to him."

"Only if you're tired of having your head attached to your shoulders," Soolin disagreed. "It's the wrong time, Tarrant. It's gone too far now. It won't help. If Vila couldn't help, then you can't. Leave it."

"But it's my fault," Tarrant insisted.

"Don't take on more than your fair share of it," Blake corrected him, trying to ease his back. The pain was duller now but not gone, and he felt it lurking behind the painkiller waiting to come rushing back. "I should have known Avon well enough to realize he would have ferreted out a traitor in his midst long ago. I've got in the habit of testing everyone and playing games--Deva used to get after me about it. But you had the disadvantage of being Dev Tarrant's son, and I couldn't help holding it against you. I owe you an apology."

"Accepted," replied Tarrant, relaxing a little."But that doesn't help Avon."

"You sound concerned for him."

"He's my shipmate. We didn't always get on, but we backed each other. I knew where I stood with him; he was consistent until now. If I've had a hand in destroying him, I want to make amends. If we go our separate ways afterwards, so be it."

"Well said, Del." Dravot clapped him companionably on the shoulder. "Spoken like a man."

Blake wasn't sure how Tarrant would react to Dravot's approval, but he grinned briefly, uncomfortable but satisfied and returned to the subject with all the persistence Avon himself might have shown when dealing with a tough computer problem.

"So what are we to do about it?" he demanded.

"You don't like leaving things unfinished?" Blake asked, curious about Tarrant.

"Shall we say I don't like leaving things unmended that I've broken."

"Don't take too much credit for the break," Soolin put in. She turned from the console and regarded Tarrant across the back of her chair. "You're more in the nature of the straw that broke the camel's back than anything more serious."

"If it hadn't been you, it would have been something else," Blake said kindly.

"Nonsense. If I'd come out and said, 'Here's Blake, and he's delighted to see us,' it would never have happened."

"Which puts the fault back with me."

"You're both missing the point," insisted Dravot. "There's been talk of Avon's ego, but people who argue over who has the bigger share of guilt are people with colossal egos themselves. It doesn't matter now how it happened. What matters is that it's put right. I'm an outsider who doesn't know Avon, and I could be way off base, so correct me if this doesn't match your knowledge of the man. I think he's trying his damnedest to put you all off because he thinks there's no future for him. He knows what It's like to lose someone, and he wants to spare you that. If you hate his guts, you won't mind if he should disappear or die."

"If that's what he thinks, he's wrong," Blake burst out. "If he wants to leave, I can't prevent it, but I don't want him to go for reasons like that."

"But don't you see, Blake, forcing him to stay is only a different proof of betrayal. Right now he's not thinking clearly. In a sense he's like a child. Small children's worlds are entirely egocentric. He's drawn into himself so that he perceives everything in relation to himself. It's not fully effective because he still has feelings for you, but he can't admit it. His reasoning is skewed and you can't help with logic. If you try to use sentiment, he'll only run all the faster."

"Then you're saying there's nothing I can do to help him?" Blake protested, disconcerted at how much that hurt. "There's got to be something, Bond."

"How much time do you want to spend on this, Blake? Even if you do break through to him, it'll take a lot of time and patience and it won't happen overnight. Once you reach him, you can't abandon him for the rebellion."

"Avon always despised my cause," Blake remembered. "One of the things he told me once was like what you said, Soolin, that I got so caught up in the big picture that I overlooked the more human problems. That's not how Avon put it, but that's what he meant. Cally told me that too. I can't abandon my cause, not unless I abandon Roj Blake along with it, but I'll try to get my priorities straight."

For the first time in Blake's presence, Soolin unbent slightly. "I can't say I'm terribly fond of Avon myself," she admitted, "But I respect him and I have some loyalty to him. If you're going to give him some time now while you're recovering and then leave him behind when you're well, I wish you wouldn't try."

"She's right, Blake," Tarrant agreed. "You might have been able to do that once, though I don't think you helped Avon in the long run. But he was stronger then than he is now. He had a better chance of surviving your meddling when Cally was still alive."

"They're not saying you must devote the rest of your life to Avon," Dravot hastened to clarify. "But if you can reach him, you'll owe him more than deserting him for your cause at least until he is ready to deal with it."

"It's a question of perspective then. I can't make Avon dependent on me. But I want him back, the way it was in the beginning. I know I became obsessed with my cause, with my purpose and my plans to defeat the Federation, and I can't turn my back on that, no matter what you say. But I needed Avon as much as you say he needed me. But I'll take it one step at a time. That's all I can do."

"That's all any man can do," agreed Dravot. "But we're arguing ahead of the facts. Avon may leave the moment we touch down on Zardo."

"I wish we could get Vila to talk to him," suggested Blake. "Not challenge him like before, but talk to him."

Soolin tossed her long, fair hair. "You might be expecting too much of Vila, Blake. Avon tried to kill him, you know."

"What! How?"

"Tried to toss him out the airlock of a shuttle that was too heavy to reach escape velocity," explained Tarrant. "Neither of them talk about it, but Vila's been different ever since and so has Avon. Vila was the only one Avon had left, and then he didn't even have Vila. When we found you, I realized that if there hadn't been the thought of you out there somewhere--even though Servalan told him you were dead--he might have snapped after Malodaar."

"I ought to be shot," Blake muttered. "I was too busy worrying about my own pride to contact Avon. Maybe if I had--"

"Tell  _him_  that, Blake, not us," Dravot interjected. "We're clear of those pursuit ships now. I suggest we get some sleep. It's been a long time, and we could use it. You rest too, Tarrant, and when you and Soolin come back, I can rest."

"What about Avon and Vila?"

"They'll have to take care of themselves. You and I will split the watches, Tarrant. Six hours on and six off. Fair enough."

"Less than a day to Zardo," Tarrant returned. "Fine with me. Come on, Soolin."

Blake watched them go. "Avon hasn't had an easy time of it," he said. "We often fought on  _Liberator_ , but I got better feelings there than I do from Avon's crew now."

"Maybe, but I can feel a tremendous bond of loyalty there. They may not particularly like each other, but they've had to depend on each other for survival. I can see you feel a kind of possessiveness about Avon, but don't come between him and his crew. That's one reason why Soolin is so hostile to you."

"You mean she loves him?"

Dravot shook his head. "No, not the way you mean it. She's a lot like Avon when you come to think of it. Isolated, unwilling to trust. If you've never had a family, even a bad family is something to hold on to. It's better than being alone."

"Avon would disagree.

"No, Avon wouldn't admit it. There's the difference." Dravot grinned. "And you, my friend, are exhausted. You lost too much blood to deal with major problems now. When Del comes back, we ought to move you to a cabin where you can rest properly."

"I'll take you up on that, at least until we reach Zardo." Blake closed his eyes as Dravot resumed the pilot's position, and sleep sucked him in like a black hole.

#

 

Vila had been resting in one of the cabins, and he stiffened when the door opened, but it was only Tarrant, pulling off his boots and tunic and dropping wearily on the second bunk. Vila didn't move or speak, regulating his breathing so Tarrant wouldn't guess he was awake and speak to him, but either Tarrant was being considerate or he was too tired to bother. In a remarkably short time, Tarrant was asleep; Vila could hear his breathing even out.

The thief gave him a few more minutes to be sure he wouldn't wake before he left him to it. He lay there, eyes shut, wishing he could relax, but he couldn't. Then he heard something and opened his eyes to mere slits, watching Tarrant sit up and pull. on his boots again. In the dim light from the atmosphere control panel, Vila saw him don his tunic though he didn't fasten it, and start for the door again. There was something strange about the way he moved, so Vila shut his eyes quickly and waited. When he heard the door slide shut, he hopped up quickly and set off in pursuit.

The corridor was deserted, and on a ship that small, there weren't that many places to go, but Vila decided if Tarrant went to the flight deck, the others could deal with him. If he hadn't, it was up to Vila, so he turned the other way, scurrying along silently, using all the stealth he'd learned in his years of thievery, careful not to be caught.

Smal sounds came from a room ahead of him, and Vila tiptoed forward curiously, peering around the corner of the door. It looked like a computer control room, vaguely like its counterpart on Liberator, and Vila half expected to find Avon there, but instead, Tarrant bent over a control panel, levering it open with a hand tool, his face blank, either with concentration or with...something else. As he watched him, Vila stiffened uneasily. He didn't know enough. about the particular equipment on this ship to be certain what Tarrant was doing, but the general look of the equipment Tarrant worked on suggested something to do with communications. It might be possible to send a signal from here, bypassing the flight deck entirely.

Vila had insisted Tarrant was no traitor, but why else would he do something like this? Two years of suffering Tarrant's bullying had not endeared the pilot to the thief, but Vila was still surprised. This wasn't right, and it didn't quite fit. Something was horribly wrong. Typical. Just when they found Blake again and were on their way to safety, something would have to go wrong. Not bad enough that Avon was sending out touch-me-not signals in all directions, now Tarrant was acting like a zombie.

Vila heaved an inaudible sigh. He knew he couldn't hope to overpower Tarrant, and something in the bigger man's face warned Vila not to go bursting in to interrupt him with some false story. Better to fetch help. Dravot. That was the man he needed. He'd fetch Dravot before anything too serious happened.

He was halfway to the flight deck when it happened. There was a fractional sound behind him, and before Vila could turn, something crashed down heavily upon his head. He struggled to stay conscious, but he couldn't fight the force of the darkness that battered him. Without a sound, he crumpled to the floor, only muzzily aware of arms catching him before he could strike the deck. He was dragged somewhere, pushed and shoved into some small space, and then there was nothing at all.

#

 

Soolin awoke before the six hours were up, and because she was suddenly wide awake, though still tired, she decided to get up and go to the flight deck. She felt an urge to be there, to protect everyone from each other long enough to reach Zardo safely. She'd heard of Zardo and knew she could find a niche for herself there, somewhere beyond the hell she'd been through the past few years. The memory of Dravot's singing tantalized her, for the tranquility of those moments of song had eaten away at her resistance like acid. She'd never felt that peaceful before, and a part of her longed to reach out and grab with both hands the security that seemed promised should all of them resolve their differences and mold themselves into a stronger group than the original one.

But when Avon had begun to distance himself from the others, she had understood, perhaps more easily than any of them, because she was on the verge of doing the same thing. Uninvolvement was safer and one of the reasons she had been so quick to disassociate herself from Blake was because she could feel the charisma of the man, just as, in a different way, she felt Dravot's. Dravot and Blake would be good for her--and for Avon, Vila and Tarrant. But Soolin had been through too much to take that chance willinglyagain. After a lifetime of experience, she had made the mistake of lowering her guard and admitting a friend to her private universe.

Now Dayna lay dead back on Gauda Prime, abandoned without even a burial. Dayna had become the one person she could trust, and sometimes the two of them would get together on Xenon base and settle in for an evening of 'girl-talk', something Dayna had learned with her sister Lauren, something Soolin had never experienced before. If Avon, Tarrant and Vila had heard half of what was said about them, Soolin suspected they would have died of terminal embarrassment. But Soolin's smile faded. Dayna was dead and that was final. There was no sense in remembering her now. Better to start planning what she would do when she arrived on Zardo.

She straightened her tangled hair with her fingers and splashed water on her face, then, as prepared as she could be without clean clothes or supplies, she let herself out of her cabin and headed for the flight deck.

When she turned a corner in the corridor, she came to an abrupt stop, staring in dismay. There was Avon, down on one knee, his hand stretched out to Vila, who lay, unconscious or dead, half in half out of an air vent. There was a lot of blood on his head, and Avon's hand was stained with it.

At the sound of her arrival, Avon raised his eyes and looked at her as if he'd been blind and had suddenly seen something he could not understand without a proper frame of reference. "Soolin..." he began in a hoarse voice she would not have recognized if she hadn't seen him speaking.

"Avon!" she cried, shocked but not surprised. "What have you done!"

His body jerked as if she had struck him. "Done?" he echoed blankly. "But I didn't..."

Soolin let the familiar and comforting shape of her gun spring into her hand and leveled it at Avon. "Back away from him now," she ordered sharply. "And don't try anything else."

"I didn't injure him," Avon denied, then he shook his head as if it hurt him. "Perhaps I did," he corrected. "I remember no such thing, but a madman might block out his actions. I had no reason to...want Vila dead."

"Unless you thought you were back on Egrorian's shuttle," Soolin told him in a brittle voice. "That's not the airlock, Avon."

"Perhaps I could not tell the difference." If her voice was brittle, his was ready to shatter into a million pieces, taking his psyche with it.

"What  _do_  you remember?"

He answered as if it didn't matter. "I was in one of the rest rooms. I decided to return to the flight deck. As I walked along the passage, I saw Vila. I had just bent to examine him when you came along." It was as if he'd learned the words by rote, but a note of strength came back and he said coldly, "I do not acknowledge your right to question me."

She ignored that. "You don't remember attacking him?"

"I--no,"

"If you attack me, Avon, I will not hesitate to shoot you."

She shifted slightly to reach the nearest intercom and set it on shipwide transmission. "Dravot, this is Soolin. There's been an...accident in the corridor near the cabins. Come quickly--and bring your gun." Her message fetched Tarrant first; he emerged from his cabin, fastening his tunic, and stood there in surprise, not yet entirely awake. Then Dravot charged around the corner and cast a calm and practiced eye over the tableau. "What happened?"

"Avon says he found Vila stuffed in the air vent," Soolin reported.

"Is he dead?" Tarrant actually sounded like he cared.

"No," replied Avon. "But he is badly hurt."

"Your concern is showing," Tarrant retorted scornfully, reaching out to dislodge Avon from Vila's side as if he weighed nothing. He checked the thief's pulse and frowned. "It's not good. We'd better get him to the flight deck." He threw Avon an angry glance. "Just because he told you a few home truths is no reason to--"

"I did not injure Vila." But Avon would have sounded more convincing if he had believed it himself. Soolin saw doubt, followed by quickly masked despair, chase itself across his face.

#

Blake was waiting anxiously for Dravot's return to learn what had happened when everyone came in at once, Dravot keeping a concerned eye-and his gun--turned upon Avon, who looked colder and more distant than Blake had ever seen him. Behind Dravot came Tarrant, carrying a clearly unconscious Vila in his arms. The younger man's face was grim and worried and when he saw Blake staring, he glared back defiantly. Behind them all was Soolin, her gun drawn, her face tight and angry.

"My god, what happened?" Blake burst out, struggling to sit up.

Dravot came and put his hand on Blake's shoulder. "No, Roj, don't get up. We'll have this out now and solve everything." He turned to insert Orac's key. "Orac, we'll need your help to resolve this."

"Actually there is a more urgent problem," Orac cut in smoothly. "A message has been sent from this ship to the Federation forces on Gauda Prime detailing our intention to go to Zardo. I was able to scramble much of the message, but it is possible that the Federation will be able to triangulate and determine our general position. It is imperative that we change course immediately."

Everyone looked worried. Tarrant deposited Vila gently on the second couch and swung around, his face furious. His eyes pinned Avon with unerring accuracy. "Why did you do it?" he exploded. "Wasn't it enough to try to kill Vila? Did you have to betray the rest of us too?"

Avon met his look. "Well now, we have no proof that I did either."

"Didn't you?"

"Did I?" Avon turned away from Tarrant, infuriating the younger man, and took a step toward Vila, an action that succeeded in drawing the aim of both Soolin and Dravot. Avon froze. Holding up his hands in a conciliatory gesture, he said coolly, "Unless the rest of you mean to finish  _my_ handiwork, I suggest you initiate treatment for him immediately."

Dravot gestured for Soolin to maintain her gun, then he got the medical supplies again and went to work on Vila.

"I think we must solve this quickly," Soolin insisted without taking her attention from Avon.

"There's not much to solve," disagreed Tarrant, pacing the flight deck angrily. "Avon came close to killing Blake on Gauda Prime, and Vila on that shuttle. He and Vila had a disagreement here. Now we find Vila close to dead. I say it's obvious."

"Why would he do it?" demanded Blake. "When he almost shot me at the base it was because he thought I'd turned him in, thanks to your intervention, Tarrant. He must know Vila didn't betray him."

"I think you're making a basic mistake in your reasoning, Blake," insisted Tarrant, stopping his pacing and facing Blake with impatient defiance. "You're assuming he's capable of making a reasoned choice. I'm not sure just how sane he is any more. A madman's reasoning isn't quite the same as the rest of ours."

"Avon?" Blake prodded gently. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I? Nothing at all."

"I always trusted you, Avon. Give me an honest answer and I'll believe you."

Avon spun on him. "You're a fool, Blake."

"That's no answer."

"Have I a better one? I did not mean harm to Vila. It was never my intention."

"Are you saying it was an accident then?"

Avon's eyes darkened and he turned away. "I am saying I did not do it, or, perhaps, that I have no memory of doing it. It might not necessarily be the same thing."

"You mean you had a blackout or something?" Blake asked, worried.

"I should not have said so." He made an impatient gesture. "My actions are none of your concern, Blake."

"They are when one of my crew is in danger."

"One of  _your_  crew? You are quick to assume responsibility, aren't you?"

"You were quick to disassociate yourself from it not too long ago. I don't think you went out of here meaning to hurt anyone, Avon, at least not physically. I think you wanted to distance yourself from us, planning to leave once we reached Zardo, and you believed it easier for all of us if we didn't part pleasantly. But that's a long distance from attempting to kill Vila in cold blood."

"Perceptive of you, Blake," sneered Avon.

"Tell me, Avon. Did you attack Vila?"

Avon shook his head, perhaps without realizing he'd done it. "No," he replied. "I didn't." He sat down at the nearest position as if his legs were tired of supporting him. "I don't know," he corrected himself. "I seem to remember what I did at all times, but--" He hesitated yet again as if making a decision and his face went cold. "If you think I did it, then I did it," he announced defiantly and folded his arms across his chest.

"Orac," Blake said quickly, "Is Avon telling the truth?"

"I resent the use of my circuits in such a manner. I am not a common lie detector."

"Do it, Orac," snarled Tarrant.

Orac hmmphed in annoyance then announced, "When Kerr Avon claims he knowingly attacked Vila Restal, he is lying. When he claims he does not know if he attacked Vila Restal, he is telling the truth, though he believes he did no such thing."

"Is that how you believe an honest answer, Blake?" demanded Avon in a voice approaching absolute zero.

"That's how I question what I take to be a deliberate lie, Avon. I never thought you would maliciously attack Vila."

"Are you certain of that?"

Blake realized that Avon himself was not entirely certain and he resented both the accusations and his own uncertainty.

Would Vila know who had struck him? Would he point his finger at Avon when he woke up and damn him with a word? After the Malodaar shuttle, Vila must already be wary of Avon. If Avon had attacked him again, it would finish any relationship that might have existed between the two men.

Then there was the possibility that either Soolin or Tarrant had attacked Vila, though it seemed a slim one. Neither had a motive that Blake knew of, and both seemed concerned for Vila now.

Unless one of them was a traitor...

Remembering the message Orac had reported, Blake set aside the question of Avon's guilt or innocence momentarily. "Tarrant, why don't you lay in a different course. We can't risk going to Zardo now."

"I'll do it," Dravot interjected, putting the finishing touches on the bandage round Vila's head. "I know this ship best. You're good, Tarrant, but I think I can get more out of this vessel than you can."

Tarrant looked mildly resentful that anyone else could fly the ship better than he could, but he stood aside to make way for Dravot, going instead to examine Vila.

"Leave him, I'm finished," Dravot insisted. "I don't think it's too serious, actually. He's probably got a concussion and will wake up feeling like nothing on earth but he'll make it. He'll probably be a little confused at first though."

"You mean he won't remember who hit him?" Soolin asked sharply.

"He may not know. The angle of the blow indicates that someone came up behind him. Vila must have started to turn, but I doubt it was in time to see his attacker. If he'd turned any more, he'd have caught the blow directly on the temple and it could have killed him. We'll let him rest now." His fingers flew over the controls as he spoke. Blake noticed he didn't announce their destination and suspected Dravot meant to keep it secret. Dravot couldn't be the traitor for Blake had been with him the whole time, sometimes close to sleep but never enough to have overlooked his leaving the flight deck. Dravot was clear and he was clear--even if he'd been programmed to do anything like that, he'd been too weak to get up and do it. That left Avon, Tarrant and Soolin. They'd each been alone and they'd each had the opportunity to harm Vila. If one of them sent the message to the Federation and Vila caught them in the act, it would explain the attack on him, though it would not explain why he'd been struck from behind and. why the attacker hadn't finished his work. Blake frowned. This would take a lot of thought.

"Were you alone, Tarrant?" Blake asked.

Realizing why he was being questioned, Tarrant nodded. "I went to get some rest. Vila was sleeping when I went in. When Soolin asked Dravot to come, I woke up and went to investigate. Vila was gone by then, of course, but I hadn't wakened when he left. I can't prove it, but I was sleeping the whole time."

"Soolin?" prompted Blake.

"I went to the other cabin. Tarrant said he'd bunk in with Vila. I didn't sleep immediately. I had a shower, then I went to bed and slept a little. When it came close to my watch, I decided to go to the flight deck. That's when I found Vila."

Blake nodded. "Avon? What about you?"

Avon looked resentful of the question, but he did answer it. "I went to one of the rest rooms. There seem to be two, both very small. No one disturbed me there. I did not want to sleep." He rose abruptly, causing Soolin to shift her angle with the gun. "I resent this inquisition."

"Vila didn't attack himself, Avon," Blake said reasonably. "Dravot and I were here on the flight deck the entire time, so that leaves one of you. On a ship this size with such a small crew, it will make things very uncomfortable for us, but until we reach a planet or until we discover exactly what happened, we'll have to stay here, all of us together. If anyone needs to leave, he will be accompanied by someone with a gun."

"Which will hardly prove effective if that person is the one who attacked Vila," Avon pointed out. "Or have I been condemned already? Since you know so much, Blake, what would be my motive for such an attack?"

"As Tarrant pointed out, you might have a motive that seems logical only to you, Avon."

"Ah yes, so I am to be considered mad. Perhaps that is best. I attacked him in some kind of maddened fit and then conveniently forgot it. I am certain Vila will find that a satisfactory answer for his attack. Another thing you might consider is that if Vila had discovered the 'spy' at work divulging our heading to the Federation why it was that he was struck from behind."

"Because he ran," Soolin suggested disgustedly. "Vila's never been the bravest of men. If he caught someone in the act, he'd probably go for help."

Avon made her a mocking bow. "Perhaps."

"It wouldn't matter to you either way," Tarrant flashed. "You'd already decided Vila was worthless to you--over Malodaar. How much easier would 't be a second time. Did you do it, Avon?"

"Did I?"

"That' s no answer. "

"We need to calm down." Dravot left the pilot's position and coming to stand between the two men. "Sit down, Tarrant. I have a question for Soolin. You found Avon bending over Vila. Describe the scene. In detail, please."

"All right. Vila was on the floor, half shoved into the air vent, feet first. He was bleeding from a head wound and the angle had made blood run down his face and onto the deck." She shivered fractionally. "Avon was down on one knee beside him. He had his hand stretched out to Vila and he must have just touched him for it was bloodstained."

"Was his hand empty?"

Soolin muttered a curse to herself. "That's what was wrong! I felt something was. I didn't see a weapon."

"Go quickly and look," Dravot ordered. "Tarrant, you stay here with Blake. Come straight back, Soolin." He walked as far as the door to the flight deck with her, remaining in the doorway though she would be out of sight of him when she reached the place Vila had been found.

She was not gone long, though. In minutes she was back, frowning. "There's nothing there," she returned. "I checked in the air vent, everywhere. I saw nothing that could have knocked Vila out."

"All that proves," Tarrant pointed out, "Is that Avon didn't attack him then, or there. He did it earlier and forgot about it and then he came along and 'found' Vila."

"Then why isn't there blood on his clothes?"

Avon looked down at himself in surprise, then he controlled his involuntary reaction and said coolly, "But there is," and pointed to it.

"That's old," Dravot contradicted. "You got that helping move Blake into the tunnel. It was there when I first saw you. I remember it. Shoving Vila into the vent feet first would be sure to get more blood on your clothes. If you did it without remembering it, you would probably not have been thinking about such things as that." He looked round the flight deck. Soolin was free of bloodstains, but Tarrant had them on his tunic. Seeing the look, Tarrant said quickly, "I carried him here, as you'll remember."

"Did he have bloodstains when he first appeared, Soolin?"

"I didn't pay any attention, but I think I would have noticed if he had. I'm sorry, Dravot, but I didn't."

"That takes care of the easy answer," Blake decided. He stretched carefully and his back didn't twinge quite as badly as before. "If we're dealing with a saboteur or enemy agent, then he's a cool enough customer to have thought of such things and done something about them, possibly removing his shirt to move Vila. Easier to wash blood from the skin. I'd like this ship searched for evidence. I know you haven't had any sleep in a long time, Bond, but I think you'll have to do it."

"Leaving you alone with the traitor, Blake?"

"Leaving me alone with a traitor and two innocent people," Blake replied. "If we assume Avon didn't do it, then we leave you with one traitor, one innocent person and one madman. That is assuming that a madman wouldn't be logical about his madness. Avon has functioned well so far. If he did it in some kind of fit, I think he could have concealed his traces. Lack of new blood on his clothes might make him slightly less likely as the attacker, but it doesn't clear him."

Blake nodded. "I know. But I'm awake. I'm not up to much more than lying here, but I can hold a gun. Leave me yours."

"Just a moment, Blake," Tarrant interjected smoothly. "You've been badly wounded and you're clearly not well. It's been over six hours since we left you and Dravot alone here. Are you absolutely certain you've been conscious the entire time?"

It was a fair question. Blake considered it before answering then nodded. "Yes, I'm certain, Tarrant. I was dozing a little, but every time Dravot moved, I woke up. I'm certain I would have noticed if he'd left the flight deck. The door squeaks when it slides open. I would have heard it."

"If I had attacked Vila," Avon offered, "I would have disposed of the weapon and anything else used in the attack. There are several airdock and ejection chutes."

"No airdock opened," Dravot said. "An alarm sounds on the flight deck when that happens. The disposal chutes are small though, and they're not tied to alarms. Something small enough could have been ejected."

"Then search, Bond," Blake urged, accepting the gun his pilot passed him. He was still in pain and he was almost unbearably weary, but he could hold out until Bond came back. He must. This had to be resolved quickly. Bad enough to be the object of a vast Federation search with a traitor on board. Worse to have no idea who it was. Blake could almost see Avon attacking Vila in some kind of mental aberration--Avon was clearly not 'normal'--but he couldn't see Avon contacting the Federation, and it seemed illogical to assume that there were two separate problems on board. Could that clear Avon? Could Blake take a chance on Avon because he might actually be mad? Or had the assumed madness been a cover for traitorous activities? Blake would have said Avon was the last man to sellout to the Federation,: but Avon had a considerable fondness for wealth and power. What kind of money and security would it have taken to make Avon turn? No. Avon was no fool. No matter how much the Federation promised, Avon had to know they would never deliver. He couldn't be stupid enough to accept their guarantees. And no reason other than money would do it either, or he wouldn't have been so horribly shocked at the thought of a betrayal from Blake. Avon might claim no belief in the cause, but neither would he feel loyalty to the Federation, not when he'd held onto a belief in Blake in spite of incredible obstacles.

Suddenly Vila moaned, causing everyone to turn and stare at him. "No," Vila whimpered helplessly, caught up in a dream. "No, please. Please don't. Don't kill me, Avon."

Avon froze and for an instant Blake saw naked shock in his eyes. Avon might have claimed to need none of them; he might have been trying to put them off for all he was worth, but he had meant Vila no harm. This was the same man who had been so shocked at the thought of a betrayal from Blake. Beneath that rigid facade was a man who still cared, who was bleeding from wounds well hidden. In spite of the impact of Vila's words, Avon might not be beyond reach after all.

With a groan of pain Vila shifted position. "No, don't," he went on. "There's got to be something else to eject. Please, Avon. I don't want to die."

"Malodaar," Soolin burst out, relief in her voice. "He's not talking about what just happened."

"No, but what reminded him of Malodaar?" Tarrant asked. He sat beside Vila and put his hands on the thief's shoulders. "Vila, it's all right. You're safe now."

"NO!" Vila half sat up, eyes flying open, wide with terror, then confusion replaced the fear, and he made a choking sound. "I...feel sick."

Tarrant jumped back sharply as Vila slumped, the violent motion upsetting him. Weakly the thief rolled over on his side and leaned over the edge of the couch vomiting.

For an instant no one moved, then before anyone could object, Avon scooped up a tray from the table to use in place of a bowl and after setting it in place he sat beside Vila and held him steady until he was finished. No one interfered, though Soolin's gun followed him. When Vila was once again lying flat, Avon said, "I want a damp cloth," and Tarrant handed him one. He wiped Vila's face efficiently. "Stay still, Vila," he told him. "You have concussion. If you move around, you shall be sick again."

"Avon?" Vila squinted at him as if he'd just recognized him. "Who...happened?"

"Don't you remember?" asked Avon in a peculiar voice.

"Was asleep," Vila managed. "No. Awake. Something happened." He scrunched up his face in a horrible frown. "Avon...Can't remember."

"Easy. It will come back to you. You've been hit on the head."

"Who?" Vila asked. "Getting back at me, are you?" The question was as far from an accusation as it was possible to get. Vila was teasing Avon with something that had never occurred to him, in spite of the content of his nightmare. He had been frightened and it had made him dream about Malodaar, but that didn't necessarily mean Avon had been involved in the attack.

"Do you feel you deserve it?" Blake suspected Avon's voice was normal with a considerable effort.

"Never," Vila denied with a faint grin. "Deserve money, jewels, adrenalin and soma...a hundred dancing girls waiting on me hand and foot...and wouldn't mind if you lot did the same Avon?"

"Yes, Vila?" A curiously gentle voice.

"Who hit me, Avon?"

"I don't know."

Vila groped for Avon's arm and shook it slightly. "Find out...keep him away...don't let him kill me... Safe with you, Avon."

"Yes, Vila," Avon breathed, his face stricken. "You know you are safe with me. Now go to sleep."

Vila's eyes closed obediently. His breathing deepened.

Avon detached himself from Vila fastidiously, sitting as far from the thief as possible. "Well, Blake," he demanded. "What does your dubious logic make of that?"

"I'm not entirely certain, Avon, except for one thing."

Avon raised eyes like a bottomless abyss into which he seemed to be falling. Blake had to try to help.

"I don't think you hit him," Blake said.

"Indeed? You thought so when he was pleading with me for his life."

"A nightmare, Avon."

"Triggered by?"

"By the fact that someone tried to kill him. He doesn't believe you did it."

"He doesn't know  _who_  did it, Blake. You're a fool to base anything on what he said just now."

"I never claimed to be basing anything on what he said just now. I'm basing it on your actions."

"Don't be deceived by anything I do, Blake."

"On the contrary, Avon, I've sometimes been deceived by your words. I've never been deceived by your actions."

Something flashed in the dark depths of Avon's eyes, but he did not respond.

"Avon, I'm in pain and I want nothing so much as to sleep," Blake said seriously. "I'm in neither the shape nor the mood to play word games with you. Back on  _Liberator_ , you often claimed to want to be free of us--of me. But when the chips were down, your actions were the one thing I could count on. You claimed to need none of us, but you saved us--saved me--any number of times, often at risk to your own life. I never expected a declaration of loyalty, Avon. I might have liked it, but I didn't expect it. I was satisfied with your presence and the knowledge that you'd back me. You challenged me and pointed it out when I tried something foolish, but I always knew you were there and that was what counted. Vila knows the same thing or he wouldn't have reacted as he did just now. Malodaar was hard on both of you, but you've been through too much."

"Innocent due to insanity, Blake?" Avon asked.

"I'm curious, Avon. I'd like to know what Tarrant or Soolin would have done on that shuttle. Self preservation is a strong drive."

"They weren't there, and I was."

"And Vila's still alive."

"He hid from me, Blake. I found a solution before I discovered his hiding place."

"There being so many places to choose from?"

Avon looked affronted. "I will never say what you want of me, Blake, that I struggled to find a way to save Vila. I was looking for survival for myself."

"It being so valuable that you're now planning how to end it?"

Avon was shocked into an involuntary movement, then he gave a bright, false smile. "But then a madman is never rational, is he, Blake?"

"Perhaps not. But a madman is safe, Avon. Do whatever you like, be cold, be unsure, be mistaken, fail, admit feelings--and then blame it all on madness. Is that it, Avon? It's become too much effort to play the game anymore, so you give up. Anything that makes you uncomfortable, anything you don't want to explain, just cover it with a blanket of madness, and then you're safe. No one worries about your motives any more. I never thought you a coward, Avon."

Avon's face was vividly alive now, furiously angry. "You've no damn right to accuse me of anything, Blake. If we're to talk of cowards, you ran, damn you. You left the  _Liberator_  and you didn't bother to contact us. Damn you, we had Orac. You could have reached us, even if only to say, 'leave me alone.' Who's the coward, Blake?"

That touched a nerve. Maybe his wounds were too near the surface, wounds Blake didn't know about, wounds that were festering. It was more than his departure, much more. Cally had died and the  _Liberator_  was gone and that hadn't helped, but there was still more. Dayna had died and that was an immediate loss that none of them had faced yet. They were all still shell shocked, and if they were that bad, how much worse was Avon. Could it even be held against him if he'd attacked Vila?

"Maybe I was a coward not to come back, Avon. It was wrong not to tell you what I intended and I admit it. I'm told you looked for me. If I contributed to bringing you to this, I'm sorry, but you choose your own reactions. If you choose madness, I'll fight it because I think there is too much of value in you to be thrown away. If you want out, say so, and you'll be allowed to go. If you want to stay, that's you're choice too and you'll be welcome. But don't choose madness because you think it's the easy way out."

"It is not something I control," Avon responded in a carefully level voice.

"Isn't it? There's  _too much_  control there, Avon. You need to let go, not hold it in."

"Do ? Are you now a psycho strategist, Blake? There was always a bit of the puppeteer in your make up."

"Insult me if you will, but it solves nothing."

"Surely even your great bleeding heart has its limits, Blake," he cried desperately.

"Does it? When it comes to you, I'm still looking for them. You'll have to go a lot further to drive me away, and I think  _you_  have limits. Call me all the names you will, shut yourself away from me, and I'll still be here waiting."

"I could kill you, Blake. I almost did back on Gauda Prime."

"But you didn't. Don't you see, Avon? That's the right way to use that icy control of yours. You know when to stop, just as you did on that shuttle. You feared I would betray you. That meant you still believed in me. I didn't betray you, Avon, and I won't, though my cause may yet kill us all. It won't be because I set out to harm you, though. But I think you've another fear, not just that I might betray you, but that  _you_  will betray  _us._  Even if you attacked Vila, you're still holding back. You haven't gone too far yet. Vila's alive and you're concerned for him."

"Am I?"

"I think I understand, Avon. I'm not trying to push too far. I just want to show you that turning us against you isn't the answer. It might feel safe in the short run, but it won't work indefinitely, and the reason for that is because we're stronger together."

"Ah yes. Especially since one of us is a Federation agent, sending messages to Gauda Prime. We are certainly safer together." But the scorn in his voice was largely forced.

"Blake?" interrupted Soolin.

He shot her an annoyed glance, half inclined to tell her to wait, but then he nodded. "Go ahead, Soolin."

"When I found Avon and Vila, Avon was genuinely shocked that I would suspect him of attacking Vila. I don't think it had occurred to him before I let him know I was suspicious."

"That's a value judgment," Avon said.

"Is it, Avon? I'm sorry I jumped to that conclusion, but I had cause. I've seen how you've changed lately. But I should have known you wouldn't attack Vila in cold blood."

"That does not allow for the possibility I might have attacked him and forgotten it."

"No, it doesn't," Blake replied. "But I don't think you did that. Do you remember attacking him?"

"No."

"Do you think you attacked him?"

Avon shook his head. "But I cannot be certain, Blake, and that is why you should have nothing further to do with me."

"We'll prove you didn't do it, Avon, or we'll find a way to make sure it doesn't happen again. Do you trust me?"

"Do you think I do?" countered Avon. He had an annoying knack of answering a question with another question, especially when the answer would have been important. "Do you honestly believe I would be fool enough to trust anyone now? You've got a gun in your hand and you're ready to use it against me."

"Will you trust me to use it only to protect us all, and then only as a last resort? If you are mad, and I'm not entirely certain I'm willing to accept that, then let me deal with that until we can remedy it. If you've become bitter and more unwilling to trust, then I understand because I've become that way myself. Only now, looking back at Gauda Prime, and looking at you, do I see how mistaken I was. I'm stronger with you and the others than I was when I held everyone at bay. You were stronger on  _Liberator_  when you permitted yourself to trust us, even if only a little. I don't expect impassioned declarations from you, Avon. That's not your way. But don't try to alienate us to protect us. I think we must hold on to each other for all we're worth if the alternative is what you're going through now."

"That's your opinion, Blake. I have had enough of this."

"You only push me away because you know I'm right. We'll find an answer, Avon. It won't be easy, but it needn't be impossible either."

Avon was spared the necessity of replying by the return of Dravot, who appeared at the door of the flight deck. "Nothing," he replied. "How's Vila?"

"He woke up briefly," Blake explained. He gestured at Tarrant, who had taken it upon himself to clean up after the thief and who was in the process of feeding stained rags and the tray into the disposal unit.

The older pilot watched him a moment, then he took his accustomed position. "Someone sent a drone out," he explained. "That's how the information got out before Orac could completely jam it. It was already transmitting outside the ship before Orac picked it up. Enough got through to make going to Zardo impractical."

"Then Orac did jam it," Soolin said, relieved. "They won't know where to look for us?"

"They'll make some educated guesses," disagreed Tarrant. "There aren't that many likely worlds out this way. I'd guess we're going to Kosnowski's World or Ritter, or possibly Moulay."

"That brings up another question, Blake," Dravot pressed on. "Not everyone knows how to set up a message drone. I'd guess Avon does, though I'd expect him to program one that would be more resistant to Orac. Tarrant knows; it's one of the things taught at the Academy. What about you, pretty lady?" he asked Soolin.

She took no offense at the name, shaking her head. 'I never learned," she replied. "But of course you must decide if you believe me or not."

"Vila suspected you of something," Dravot told Tarrant. "He said you were acting strangely and that you almost hit the transmit button when you were sitting at the comm console before we left GP."

Tarrant's eyes widened in disbelief. "He said  _what_! It's not true. Vila has an unusual imagination. I'd hardly send a message to the Federation. I'm registered as a deserter as well as a resistor. Servalan knows that I know her identity. I wouldn't survive five minutes if they got me."

"Unless you were actually an undercover agent."

"Nonsense," Tarrant replied. "When I've been on  _Liberator_  and  _Scorpio_  for over two years? Surely in all that time I would have turned them in if I'd been a Federation agent."

"He has a point." Avon turned to Blake. "Tarrant may be rash and impetuous, but he has also had ample opportunity to turn us in. He could have secured the  _Liberator_  for the Federation when I first met him but he chose to help me free it. If there is some deep motive involved there, I am at a loss to see it."

"I'll give you one," suggested Dravot. He took the gun back from Blake, who lowered his arm with relief. He hadn't realized what a strain it had been to hold the weapon for even as short a time as that.

"What reason, Bond?" he asked.

"A very simple one. Completely obvious.  _You_  weren't there."

"I wasn't--" Blake fell silent. "But that's ludicrous. The others were there.  _Liberator_  was there. To hold back and wait for the off chance of finding me would be just plain stupid."

"True," agreed Dravot. "None of this makes sense."

"What of Soolin?" suggested Tarrant. "She joined us recently and she needed us at first to be certain of getting off Xenon. Gauda Prime is her home planet. Maybe she was part of a plan directed at getting Avon and the rest of us there."

"You don't remotely believe that?" Soolin demanded hotly, looking as if she'd like to aim her gun at Tarrant for a change.

"It's not very likely," Tarrant conceded. "Avon must have attacked Vila. Nothing else makes sense."

"It doesn't make sense for there to be two separate crimes with no tie to each other either," disagreed Blake.

"What about you?" Tarrant asked Dravot. "We know nothing about you. The rest of us have worked together and know how far we can trust each other. This is your ship. The message drone could have been prepared in advance. You're the one who decided to go to Zardo, after all. You could have had the drone prepared and activated it remotely from here on the flight deck."

"Why activate it at all if I'm the traitor? Why not just tell my friends in advance of where I'm going?"

"Because you didn't have a chance," Soolin persisted stubbornly though she looked unhappy at the thought of accusing Dravot.

In the enviable position of the only person on board who couldn't be accused of either crime, Blake felt exhaustion surge through him, almost enough to overcome his determination to solve the problem. He lay his head on his folded arms and struggled to keep his eyes open. He couldn't sleep now.

"You need rest, Blake." Avon sounded annoyed as if he resented being forced to display concern, but he persisted. "If you keep this up, you will have a relapse, and in your current position of neutral arbiter, you are important to this ship. I suggest you sleep now. I do not believe that the attempt to reach the Federation is part of a conspiracy. Should you rest, you will not endanger the rest of us."

Blake bit back the urge to say, 'I didn't know you cared,' and said quietly instead, "You're right, Avon. I'm half asleep already. I'll catch a nap."

He shut his eyes, relieved to be free of the tense and unnatural atmosphere if only for a short time.

#

 

Vila's head throbbed fiercely, and he could scarcely concentrate, but he had been lying half dozing, listening to the others speculate and accuse each other of notifying the Federation of their location. But that meant that troops would soon be pursuing them and it would all be to do over again. He was too muzzy and confused to wonder why they thought Avon had attacked him and why Avon didn't tell them he hadn't done it.

Vila couldn't really remember the actual attack. He'd gone to lie down, he knew that. Tarrant had come to bed, but after that... He strained after the memory and recalled a vague image of scurrying down the passage to do something important. There was a noise behind him and then pain. The pain had not gone away; if anything it was worse, but he could remember nothing more. Who had hit him, and why?

Someone was a Federation agent? One of them? That was wrong, wasn't it? Maybe it was Dravot. After all, Vila knew the others, and though Avon wasn't quite sane any more and Tarrant had always been an insufferable bastard and Soolin could be cold and sarcastic to him, he trusted them, didn't he? At least he'd trusted them up to a point. Up till Malodaar. If Avon could try to kill him, then nothing was sacred.

Yet if Avon had tried to kill him on Egrorian's shuttle, why was Vila so certain Avon hadn't tried this time. He remembered Avon being as cold and nasty as possible and, finally pushed too far, he'd told Avon what he thought of it all. Avon wouldn't have hit him just for that, would he? Vila knew better.

Maybe there was someone hiding on the ship, someone nobody knew about. It was a good solution though it scared him, but he didn't think it was the right one. Better not think about it. He tried to erase the thought.

For a long time he pretended sleep while he listened but his head hurt too much to sleep and he couldn't manage to drift back into the safety of unconsciousness. Blake went to sleep though--lucky Blake--and the others didn't say much after that. Tarrant and Soolin threw a few speculations around and a few accusations which roused Dravot to intervene, and Avon said nothing at all. Vila knew he was still there; he always knew when Avon was there which didn't seem particularly useful somehow.

Homicidal bastard, Avon. Vila frowned. It was easy to picture Avon sneaking up behind him and bashing him, but that was Malodaar talking. Suppose Vila had had the gun on the shuttle? What would he have done? He was good at survival to have made it this far, though usually he survived by being unobtrusive, invisible. He could kill if he had to, but he didn't like it. Would he have tried to kill Avon if he'd had the gun? He didn't know. That was why he couldn't totally hate Avon for what had happened. It was all Orac's idea anyway. Vila didn't trust Orac one bit.

But it was Orac who introduced the next act in the drama. Orac didn't usually volunteer information, but it did when survival was at stake. "Information," Orac interrupted. "There is a fault in the main drive."

"There is  _what_!" Avon demanded furiously.

"The main drive has been sabotaged," Orac replied. "If it is not shut down within the next five minutes, it will fail entirely. Shut it down now and it can be repaired."

"Shut it down and the Federation will find us," Avon snapped.

"If we don't," Dravot reminded him, "We'll be stranded out here. All right, we'll shut it down. Any other surprises, Orac? Any bombs planted about the ship? Will it trigger anything if we slow down or stop?"

"Negative. I am checking for further sabotage, but nothing else registers."

Marvelous. Vila opened his eyes and watched Dravot and Tarrant shut the ship down. They were dead in space with not much more than life support left. It was a trap, he knew it was. They were all going to die.

"How long will repairs take, Orac?" asked Dravot. For someone who had never encountered Orac before, he was certainly getting into the spirit of using the little computer. Vila liked Dravot though he didn't dare trust him. Vila didn't trust a great many people. Most of them were out to get you, and, Vila knew it.

"Repairs will take twenty hours. I have catalogued replacement parts on board this ship and they are adequate to the repair task. Recommendations are that repairs be completed by Avon, Tarrant and Dravot, under my supervision."

Well, that might work as long as one of them wasn't the saboteur. Vila couldn't imagine Avon siding with the Federation, but sometimes he had to stop and think about it. Who knows what nasty things Servalan might have done to him when she had him on Terminal. Played games with his mind, hadn't she? Maybe she'd set up some kind of programming to activate when Avon actually found Blake. That would explain a lot.

But Avon hadn't hit him. Vila knew that though he couldn't explain why he was so certain of it. Maybe it was because he didn't want it to be true. He thought he could eventually come to terms with Malodaar, but he wasn't sure how much more he could take. Avon couldn't have done it. Could he?

Probably sensing the tension on the flight deck or perhaps feeling the difference in the ship, Blake woke up and looked around. Spotting Vila watching him, he asked, "What's wrong?"

"We're in trouble, Blake." Dravot filled Blake in. "I'm afraid it won't take twenty hours for the Federation to find us if they're actively searching. We've still got the detector shield but we can't use it for extended periods without the main drive so I've shut it down. We're far enough out that even the extra range sensors can't reach us here. But we'll be a sitting duck long before we're finished."

"Could someone else be on board?" Vila asked. Nobody had mentioned it and he had to know.

"Now that is an intriguing suggestion," Avon replied, turning to study Vila thoughtfully. "Orac?"

"I have already scanned this vessel for extra people," Orac replied smugly. "All persons on board are presently on the flight deck."

Gathering up Orac, Avon headed for the door, trailed by Dravot and Tarrant. The older man took his gun with him. The main work would be done elsewhere, then would be fine tuned on the flight deck. Vila cherished a brief and momentary hope that removing the sabotage before the drive failed might prevent the full twenty hours of repair, but none of the others seemed to think of it, so it was probably wrong. Vila sighed.

"How do you feel, Vila?" Blake asked him.

"Oh, wonderful," he answered mournfully. "My head aches, my stomach is doing funny dances, and I'm about to be captured by the Federation or blown to bits and you ask how I feel. How do  _you_  feel?"

"About the same," Blake replied with a hint of a smile. "This isn't exactly how I'd have chosen to be reunited with you and Avon, Vila."

"It's not my first choice either," Vila returned with a grin.

"In fact, Blake," Soolin offered, "Finding you has been considerably more trouble than it was worth."

As she spoke, Avon returned to the flight deck, opened one of the panels and removed a circuit board, studying it briefly. He ignored them, so they ignored him.

"We went through a lot to find you, Blake," Soolin persisted, determined to air her grievance now that she had begun, "And Dayna died for it. Next time you decide to disappear, send a message to that effect and we'll leave you in peace."

Avon stiffened slightly at the mention of Dayna, or perhaps at the suggestion that Blake would vanish again. Soolin must have noticed for she plunged on. "That's right, Avon, you do remember that we lost Dayna back there, don't you?"

Avon turned to face her and his eyes were empty. "Who?" he asked in the same cold tones he'd used when held been forced to kill Dr. Plaxton. Afterwards Vila had realized that Avon had had no choice but to activate the drive but his cold bloodedness about it had disturbed the others. Vila finally came to understand it was the only way Avon could have dealt with it. No one else seemed to recognize that. Avon could easily kill an enemy who threatened his life, or someone who had turned on him, but to kill an innocent person affected him badly, and only by pretending not to care, even to himself, could Avon manage it. He blamed himself for Dayna's death as he had Cally's, and he was in no condition to face it yet.

Soolin stiffened in outrage. She wasn't terribly good with feelings either, but she had been Dayna's friend, and if something didn't stop her, she'd go for Avon with teeth and claws. From the look of him, he wouldn't fight back.

Vila wasn't really clearheaded enough to come up with the right distraction. He'd always been good at defusing such moments, but this time, his mind was blank, so he fell back on subterfuge. He closed his eyes and moaned. Loudly.

Everyone stared, and Avon, cold-blooded monster that he was, strode across the room and bent over Vila. "Are you in pain?" he asked in a curiously diffident voice.

"Am I in pain?" Vila demanded, looking up at him. "Am I in pain, he asks me. Try getting your head bashed in and see what you think. I feel wonderful, of course. Any minute now I'll get up and open a lock. How can I sleep with no adrenalin and soma and people yelling at each other just over my head."

He sneaked a look at Avon and was relieved to see his face relax slightly and a suspicious twitch develop at the corners of his mouth. That was better. Vila smiled at Avon though he would have preferred to shout at .him in exasperation, and said, "Don't loom over me like that. I'm not dying."

"Did I look particularly worried?" Avon asked.

"Dreadfully," Vila replied with an extravagant gesture that sent pain running through his skull. He couldn't mask it, and Avon noticed, bending closer. He was careful not to look worried but Vila realized that he was. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

Soolin didn't look placated, but then she wouldn't. Vila tried another tack. "I know it wasn't you who bashed me," he told Avon calmly, almost as if it didn't matter.

Avon drew back in surprise and Blake cut in quickly. "Have you remembered who it was, Vila?"

"No. But it wasn't Avon. I know that."

"How?" asked Soolin. "Wishful thinking?" She lay her gun aside and flexed her fingers, leaving the weapon within easy reach. "He's tried to kill you before. Why should this be different?"

"Didn't try to kill me before," Vila insisted. "Tried to save himself. Two different things. Besides, if he'd tried to kill me, he'd have succeed. Always does." That made surprising sense, and it spurred Vila on. "Avon wouldn't attack for the fun of it. It's not his way. Whoever hit me did it because I must have seen something or knew something or was a danger. Think if I was a danger to Avon he would've bashed me and walked off without making sure I was dead?"

"If you were such a danger why would anyone leave you alive, Vila?" Avon asked, though he looked curiously relieved by Vila's words. With shock, Vila realized that Avon needed his absolution. He wasn't entirely sure himself if he'd done it or not.

"Maybe they're not such perfectionists as you are," Vila replied. "Or maybe it was to stop you finding something out, not because you actually did."

"Avon,  _think_  about it," Vila insisted. "You  _know_  you didn't do it. Don't let them confuse you. Don't let them think you're mad."

"But I am mad, Vila," Avon replied reasonably.

That hurt. Vila could feel Blake's reaction to it too, so he continued quickly. "Maybe, but you don't have blackouts or anything. You remember what you do."

"Vividly," Avon responded as if it were a curse.

"Then you know you didn't attack me. When you found me, you were surprised, maybe even a little worried?" he prompted, grinning

"Well now, I don't know that I should go that far."

That was better. Vila's smile was smug. "You see. You didn't do it." He added darkly, "Somebody else did, and I don't want them to have a second go at me. I need someone logical--and moderately clever--to reason out who it could have been, and why."

Avon raised an affronted brow. " _Moderately_  clever, Vila? Don't assume you are safe from me simply because you are wounded."

"Threats, Avon?" asked Soolin, picking up the gun again. She still didn't get it.

"Oh, don't be stupid, Soolin," Vila snapped at her.

Avon glared at his circuit board. "I have better things to do than to stand here talking nonsense," he announced and went out.

"Anyone ever tell you it isn't kind to kick someone when he's down, Soolin?" Vila demanded.

"Anyone ever tell you that only a fool trusts his enemies, Vila?"

"Avon's not my enemy," Vila returned. "Maybe he's not well, but how well are the rest of us? Think of everything that's happened. Anna Grant betrayed him--" He noticed Blake's involuntary movement and resolved to tell Blake about that later when he got the chance, to help him understand. "We lost Cally, and we lost the  _Liberator_. Tarrant's brother died, Cally lost all her people, I lost Kerrill, Dayna lost her family. Then when we thought we found Blake, it was only a trick of Servalan's and she told Avon that Blake was dead. It's been downhill ever since. Maybe your problem, Soolin, is that you never were around us when we were winning. It's been nothing but losing for a long time, and we barely escaped with our lives most of the time. Maybe Avon's not sane any more, but what about the rest of us. We lost Dayna when we found Blake, and I don't think Avon can cope with her death. He can barely handle finding Blake, and that's a  _good_  thing."

"You seem to think it is."

"It is. You'll see. But we've still got problems. A saboteur--which could even be you, so don't come on so superior until we know. The drive's down and the Federation could still find us. If we get out of here alive and find a nice bolthole maybe Avon will be all right, with Blake's help. Until then, give him a break. Give us all one."

"I'll give him one as long as he doesn't betray us," she conceded. "That's the best I can do."

It was more than Vila had expected. He grinned at Blake, who returned the smile. "Now that I've resolved all that," Vila announced with a huge grin, "I'm tired and my head hurts. I'm going back to sleep. See that everything is all right while I do."

"Giving orders, Vila?" Soolin demanded, still pushing it, though he suspected she was trying not to smile.

"No, I am," Blake cut in. He could always sound like he meant it.

Vila grinned and fell asleep.

#

 

Tarrant worked hard at the damaged main drive of the ship, thinking dark thoughts about the situation they'd landed in, cursing whichever fool had been stupid enough to damage the ship that was their only chance of survival. If they hadn't had Orac to detect the damage, they would have gone on until the drive was blown and there was no hope of getting free. Now there was a chance of making repairs, though the time element could cause problems. Dravot was proving skilled in his work, and Tarrant was glad of it, for he was enough of a pilot to understand what was wrong and why but not enough of an engineer to fix it unaided. Dravot was invaluable and Avon's computer skills were also essential.

Tarrant worked on the stripped down forward thrusters and brooded. With such a limited number of people it should be easy to discover the traitor's identity, and Tarrant's choices were two, Dravot, who was a stranger and who knew a lot more about the workings of stardrives than Tarrant had expected, and Avon. Blake vouched for Dravot, but Blake had believed in Arlen too, and she'd proven a Federation spy. He'd also trusted Avon, not necessarily wise. No, taking Blake's word on Dravot's loyalty didn't appeal to Tarrant. He liked the older man, but he couldn't trust him without further proof.

As for Avon, had Tarrant ever trusted him? With unexpected honesty, he admitted that he did, within reason. Their motives had been somewhat similar; neither of them liked the Federation, and while neither of them had been the ardent revolutionary that Blake was, it would have satisfied both to see the Federation fall. Though Tarrant had never completely understood Avon, he'd been loyal to a fellow crew member even as he'd challenged him for command of the Liberator. That was part of Tarrant's nature and the training he'd received from the FSA. A space captain should be in charge of a ship; what was Avon but a computer jockey with a bit of field experience. That Avon was also a genius gave him an edge, but Tarrant didn't consider it quite enough. Still, Avon  _was_  in charge, or had been before Gauda Prime, and Tarrant considered himself man enough to accept it. Until now.

If Avon could assault Vila, who was probably the closest thing to a friend he possessed, he could turn on the rest of them too, and while it seemed unlikely that he'd suddenly side with the Federation, that could be the voice of madness talking.

Avon had gone to fetch some circuitry for Orac to analyze. Dravot had waved him off casually, though Tarrant was inclined to object to the idea of Avon wandering around the ship at liberty. Short of blowing them all to bits, there wasn't that much more he could do now, and the others were all together. No, Avon would do nothing to hurt them now. He hoped.

Seeing Vila crammed into the air vent had shocked Tarrant profoundly, far more than he'd expected. He'd never thought that much of Vila, considering him useless, a pest and a parasite, who sometimes managed to surprise him, but who usually caused more trouble than he was worth. Then why had it been so horrifying to see him sprawled there covered with blood? Tarrant rather thought he'd had some kind of dream about Vila being hurt, and now it had come true. But it was Cally who dealt in things psychic, not Tarrant. Still the dream returned to him, remarkably vivid. His father was in it too, urging Tarrant to remember his loyalties.

It must have been Blake's mention of his father that had triggered the dream, and the guilt that accompanied the memories had made him dream of betrayal. After one too many arguments with his father, Deeta had gone off to the outer worlds and now he would never come back. Tarrant knew his father was a security agent and he'd never questioned that when he was growing up, not until his last year at the academy when he'd met a girl who appealed to him.

Her name was Jenane and she was born to be a pilot. Tarrant felt something stir in him when he met her, like calling to like perhaps, and never doubted that they were destined to be together, but she held him at a distance and never lowered her guard around him the way she did most of their classmates.

Finally frustration drove him to question her about her aloofness, and she had explained it was because of his father. Dev Tarrant had turned in a friend of hers because he was a 'rebel', only it hadn't been true. Mildly contemptuous, Tarrant had snapped, "Oh, of course not," which served to irritate her further. "Political expediency, Del. His only crime was to have political enemies."

"He'd say that, wouldn't he?" Tarrant had been vaguely uncomfortable about his father for several years, and Deeta's defection had only intensified the feeling, but he couldn't help resenting her words.

"Del, I  _know._ I'm no resistor. I know we need the Federation; we've got to have order. But that doesn't say there isn't some corruption. Any government will have some. As for you, the word is out that you spy for your father."

"That's a damned lie."

"I hope so. I should have said you possess some honor. But you parrot the party line so well it's hard to tell if you have any original thoughts. You're too intelligent to refuse to question, but you don't. That makes you a perfect tool for a man like your father. Does he ever question you about your fellow students or the instructors here?"

"Of course not, he--" His voice chopped off. His father did question him, disguising it under a surface display of interest in Del's studies and his career, but Deeta had warned him that Dev wasn't that interested in his sons as long as they stayed loyal and didn't disgrace him. Del had never really felt that his father cared, only that he said the appropriate things and hoped his sons didn't notice the difference.

"He does. And like a good little agent, you tell him everything you know."

"Actually not," Tarrant admitted with bitter humor. "We aren't close. Sometimes I keep quiet simply because I know he doesn't give a damn and won't press harder. I'm not his stool pigeon."

"The word is that you are."

Tarrant believed her. It would explain why some of his classmates avoided him and why some were such toadies. It would also explain Jenane's dislike. She wouldn't hold the arrest of her friend against him if she thought him unlucky in his choice of parents. But the thought of his father using him under a pretense of caring disgusted Tarrant. It also disgusted him that the Federation would so use people. He spent more time with Jenane, learning the truth about her friend. It was true; the man's crimes were nothing more than questioning certain officials of the government for the good of all. It was apparent that the Federation had no intention of standing up to that kind of scrutiny.

That was the beginning of Tarrant's disillusionment with the Federation. He didn't let it show but graduated with his class and took an assignment, posted to pursuit ship duty in the outer worlds. Within a year he had his own ship--political favoritism, perhaps, he wondered, though he preferred to believe it was his skill and abilities that had prompted his promotion.

Then came the Arsane massacre. Arsane was a resistor world in the 5th sector and the Federation fought a fierce battle there in an attempt to put down the resistance, finally saturating the atmosphere with a poison gas that wiped out all humanoid life there. Tarrant had obeyed orders; what else could he do with observers and high ranking Space Command officers present to see they were enforced. But that finished it for him, and soon after that, he made his getaway, taking his pursuit ship with him. He'd run guns and done some smuggling, got mixed up in other people's wars, and eventually his path had led to  _Liberator_.

By that time, Tarrant was thoroughly anti-Federation, though he was not a crusader, and the idea of joining Blake's rebellion ranked up there behind securing  _Liberator_  for his own. But Blake was gone and though Avon insisted on searching for him, they hadn't found him until now. It would have been better, he thought bitterly, to have missed Blake entirely.

Avon had reacted predictably to the sight of Blake. Held pulled a gun on him. And Blake, the noble hero of the revolution, had been no better than his academy classmates who had disliked or distrusted him because of his father.

Tarrant remembered that last leave before he deserted, and the arguments with his father. Still furious about the murder of innocent civilians, many of them children, on Arsane, Tarrant had recklessly criticized the Federation to his father, and as Blake was just beginning to make a name for himself on  _Liberator_ , Tarrant had stupidly observed that Blake might have the right idea after all, forgetting that his father had been instrumental in Blake's capture. The minute held said it, he wondered if his father was dedicated enough to turn in his own son. But Dev only listened with a show of sympathy and promised to help Del get away in the morning.

Oddly enough, he had actually done so. Somehow Dev had cleared the way for his son's desertion, and Tarrant had felt a betraying warmth that his fanatical father had cared enough to help him escape.

It was only later that it occurred to him to wonder if it had been as easy as that.

Somewhere along the line, he had misplaced two days. He never found an answer for that, and even now he didn't understand it. At first he'd suspected his father had delayed him so he'd be captured, but he was not captured, and after his mercenary days, he'd decided there had been no programming either. If so, it hadn't taken, for he'd had ample opportunity since the Andromedan War to turn over Avon and the Liberator and collect the reward.

Then he'd encountered Deeta again and been forced to experience his brother's death through the sensor link at the Teal-Vandor Convention. Servalan's plan had not been aimed at Tarrant personally, but the end result had been the same and she'd doubtless enjoyed it. Tarrant consoled himself with the knowledge that if ever his father had tried to program him, it had failed completely with Deeta's death.

Now he thought back on everything that had happened. It had been so long since the days he'd feared Dev's hold on him that it had not occurred to him when the trouble began. Now he found himself wondering if it had been wrong to let such an illusion of safety deceive him. Maybe he'd done it after all.

Without remembering it? Surely he would have noticed if he'd sabotaged the ship, if he'd attacked Vila.

"I don't envy you your thoughts, son," Dravot observed, setting aside his tools as he closed up the panel held been working on and moved along to the next one, keying it open.

"What?" He looked up, startled. "How do you know--"

"I don't know  _what_  you're thinking, but you look thoroughly miserable. Is there anything I can do for you, my boy?"

Tarrant shook his head dismissively. "You can't. No one can."

"Can it really be that bad?" the older man asked sympathetically. Tarrant knew if he started to explain, the sympathy would vanish in an instant and he would make an enemy of the man. With a wry grin, Tarrant considered Blake. He'd scoffed at Blake for failing to recognize an enemy; Arlen, possibly Dravot, even Avon. But how much worse was it to fail to recognize an enemy when the enemy was oneself.

"It's not a pretty story," Tarrant confessed. He wondered if he'd be able to relate it if his sudden suspicions were correct. Shouldn't programming of that order protect itself? He hadn't known such conditioning existed, and he didn't remember sabotaging the drive. It would be comfortable to believe that meant he hadn't done it, but those missing two days bothered him, and he did remember attacking Vila, even if it had seemed like a dream. Tarrant made a giveaway gesture with his laser probe and admitted, "I think I may have--may have--" before his voice choked off in mid-sentence. He could rationalize it, he could even understand how it had happened, but the words simply would not come. "I think I was the one who--"

Realization spread across Dravot's face and he hazarded, "Attacked Vila?"

"WHAT!"

Avon stood framed in the doorway, glaring at Tarrant. He wasn't armed; his weapon had been confiscated after Soolin had found him bending over Vila's unconscious body, but had he been carrying something more lethal than a circuit board, Tarrant suspected his life would have reached an untimely and possibly violent conclusion.

" _You_  sabotaged the drive?" Avon demanded with icy fury. "You attacked Vila and left him for dead?"

Put on the defensive, Tarrant snapped back, "I wouldn't be so holy about it if I were you, Avon. At least I didn't try to fling him off Egrorian's shuttle." He felt guilty as soon as he said it, but it was too late. There was a vast difference between self preservation and deliberate sabotage, especially since Avon had actually done nothing more serious than frighten Vila. Tarrant had come damned close to killing him, and as he admitted it to himself, the memory of the 'dream' sharpened in his mind, presenting him with a picture of himself working on the drive, hearing something, investigating and discovering Vila creeping away. Tarrant had followed him with single-minded concentration and struck him on the head before he could turn. That he had fought the programming enough to avoid making sure of Vila's death was small consolation. He'd been manipulated into something he would never have done on his own and he hated that.

So did Avon. He lunged at Tarrant, mayhem in mind, and Dravot insinuated his solid and reassuring bulk between the two men and gripped Avon's arms to restrain him. "Easy now. It's some kind of programming, Avon," he explained hastily. "I think he's just realized it, and this is as close as he can come to warning us. He wouldn't have hurt Vila in his right mind."

Tarrant wondered if Dravot had chosen his words deliberately for they made Avon back off, eyes narrowing. He did not completely relax, but the murderous fury ebbed a little. Fury on Vila's behalf? Tarrant should have said that Avon was no longer capable of worrying about Vila, but perhaps that wasn't true.

"Programming?" Avon echoed, still angry but reasoning it out now. "You had ample opportunity to turn us in. How is it that you didn't do so earlier?"

"I don't think I was supposed to do that, Avon," Tarrant managed, forcing the words out with difficulty. "I think my task was very simple. To find--to find--Blake."

"Indeed? That's why you never seriously argued about any mission to find him? Why you followed me down to Terminal?" His eyes grew dangerous again, and Tarrant suspected Avon was remembering Cally.

"It's a good thing I did, the condition  _Liberator_  was in," he defended himself quickly.

"The specific of the programming may have been to bring back Blake," Dravot confirmed. "Sometimes with buried programming, the trigger is one exact thing, so limited that it can exist for years before activating, even though the Federation would have welcomed the rest of you and  _Liberator_. If Tarrant was conditioned to give them Blake, finding the  _Liberator_  after Blake's departure wouldn't have triggered it. In fact until you met Blake on Gauda Prime, Tarrant would have been no danger to you, and now that he's realized what's going on, he's close to breaking free on his own. If it's any consolation to you, he didn't want to do it."

"I'm sure that will make all the difference to Vila," growled Avon. "And it will be scant consolation to the rest of us when the Federation arrives."

"At least this way you have some warning," Dravot pointed out. "If he hadn't fought it, Vila would be dead. The problem now is to check for homing devices or other transmitters. We'll need to make sure the Federation can't find us easily."

"Did you plant any such devices?" Avon demanded of Tarrant, who knew he must have looked blank and confused. Homing beacons? He couldn't remember doing any such-His body shook as he fought to recall exactly what he'd done. "I don't-I can't--"

Avon turned to Orac and began to issue orders in a calm, practical voice. "Orac, check for homing beacons or any other transmission devices. Run a systems check of this vessel on the assumption that we may not have located all possible sabotage. We must be certain we have it all."

"Oh very well."

While Orac was working, Avon contacted the flight deck. "We have located the saboteur."

"Who is it?" Blake sounded concerned; probably afraid it was Dravot and he'd made a fool of himself again.

"Tarrant."

"Tarrant?" Soolin echoed doubtfully. "But--Avon are you sure?"

"Were I not certain, I would not say so," Avon replied coldly. "He has admitted it."

"It wasn't deliberate," Dravot cut in, defending Tarrant. The cold knot that had formed in his belly eased slightly and he threw the older man a grateful look. "It's programming. He's halfway free of it already and we can finish the job with Orac's help once we're safely away from here."

"Assuming we get safely away from here," Avon replied. "Orac, I am waiting for your report."

"Kindly continue to wait. I am checking."

"I'll wait," Vila muttered. "The Federation won't wait."

"What precautions are you taking, Avon?" asked Blake.

"Tarrant will be watched," Avon replied flatly. Tarrant suspected Avon would rather have said, 'Tarrant will be terminated.' Maybe Avon was remembering that Tarrant wasn't the only one who'd tried to kill Vila.

"We need to break conditioning as soon as possible," Blake replied. "If he's able to admit this much, he's close to getting free on his own. It can be done, though it usually requires something traumatic." His voice held unpleasant memories, and Tarrant recalled that Blake himself had broken Federation programming back on Earth before his rigged trial. It had taken a massacre of innocents to begin the breakdown once Blake was removed from suppressants. At least Tarrant didn't have suppressants to worry about. Maybe that was one reason why the conditioning had eroded so far.

"You've always been an optimist," Avon replied. "In case none of you had realized it, we can no longer trust Tarrant with the drive repairs. That will slow our progress since Orac computed his assistance into its twenty-hour projection."

"I have located and neutralized two homing beacons," Orac announced. "They have been transmitting for at least five hours and while they are limited in range, it is possible that they have been detected. Since we are unable to alter position, I recommend the use of detector shielding within the next 47 minutes. In that case, pursuit ships will assume we discovered the beacons and altered position."

"But they'll assume we might be shielded," Dravot disagreed. "And will check our last position first."

"And even assuming we have enough power to maintain shields indefinitely without the drive, that won't prevent a visual sighting," Tarrant concluded. "I'm sorry, Avon."

"That, of course, makes all the difference."

"Don't be sarcastic, Avon, it wasn't his fault," urged Dravot.

Avon's eyes stabbed him. "Equally useless. Right now we have one thing to do, repair this ship. After that is completed, if we are still alive, we can decide about Tarrant."

"I'll help with the repairs, Avon," Tarrant insisted. "It's the only chance we've got."

"The only chance you have to sabotage us again, you mean."

"Have Orac monitor me then, damn it. Do you think the Federation will reward me for the past two years? I'll be slated for execution right beside you. It's to my advantage to help us get away."

"There is something in that," Dravot observed, a hint of amusement darting across his face. The corners of his mustache twitched slightly as if he wanted to smile, but he didn't let Avon see it.

"Survival is our primary goal," Avon decided. "Orac?"

"What is it now?"

"I want you to monitor all work performed by Tarrant and report any threat to this vessel."

"My circuits are presently engaged in--"

"You will clear all circuits not presently working on our survival and monitor Tarrant. That is an order, Orac."

"Oh, very well," Orac huffed. "You would complete your work that much more quickly if you did not stand about discussing it."

Affronted, Avon went to work without another word.

Tarrant sighed inaudibly, remembering better days. Though he and Avon had never been close, they had sometimes made a good team, and Tarrant had respected him. Sometimes he'd let himself believe the respect was mutual, but he could no longer so delude himself. The only thing he could do now was to try to repair this vessel and ensure that they were not captured. Once safe away from here, they could de program him, surely.

He picked up his laser probe and set about reestablishing the G-line linkages.

#

 

After the discovery of Tarrant's reluctant perfidy, Blake slept for ten hours, unable to stay awake any longer, though he thought he might be able to help. When he said so, Soolin told him to sleep, speaking more sympathetically to him than she'd done yet. "Exhausted, you're no use to anyone, Blake, and if you have a relapse, you will take time away from those who need to work on the ship." She'd put away her gun when she heard about Tarrant and was busy running computer checks for Avon and monitoring the screens to determine the progress of the repairs and the proximity of any Federation ships. So far, even the extra range detectors had shown clear.

Blake went to sleep reluctantly, his battered body taking control, and when he finally awakened, he felt much better. The medication and treatment had done their magic and he felt almost well enough to get up. He compromised by easing himself into a sitting position, noticing that Vila was asleep and snoring gently, Soolin half buried under the navigation console and Avon on the flight deck, conferring with Orac. At Blake's movement, he turned and favored him with a long, unreadable look.

"Lie down, Blake," he said flatly. "There is nothing you can do."

"I might run circuit checks," Blake offered. "I know I'm not ready for anything strenuous, Avon, but my life's at risk too. Grant me that much responsibility."

Avon considered it, striding over to stare down at Blake as if he expected a readout on Blake's condition to appear on his forehead, then he nodded once. "Presumably you will have the sense to stop before working yourself into a relapse." He didn't sound worried, but Blake suspected that he was.

"Presumably the same applies to you, Avon. You look exhausted. How long has it been since you slept?"

"Right now repairs are more urgent than sleep."

"For me as well." He struggled to stand, finding himself still far weaker than he liked, and Avon reached out and pulled him to his feet, refusing to relinquish his grip as he guided Blake over to the main console waiting until Blake seated himself before he withdrew. Then he turned abruptly back to his work. "Orac, print up a schematic of the present repair status for Blake at his position," he instructed.

Smiling fondly, Blake watched Avon's back. He had become more difficult in the past two years and Blake wouldn't have bet money on his mental state, but the man he knew and cared about still existed, though he wore a harsher mask. Let them get through this crisis and Blake would see if he could coax Avon from concealment and help him find himself once more.

As if in answer to the feel of Blake's eyes on his back, Avon turned quickly. For just an instant, the old Avon looked out of his eyes, then he said, "If you are not going to work, Blake, lie down again. I have no patience with heroes."

Blake turned his attention to the screen.

After that, there was no time to speculate. Blake studied Orac's diagrams and schematics, trying to determine what needed to be done thoroughly and what could be jury rigged or bypassed to get them moving. Using his engineering skills again was satisfying; he didn't get enough chance to use his training any more and he was disgusted to find out how rusty he'd become. But as he worked, reviewing Tarrant and Dravot's work and correlating it with the repairs that Avon and Soolin were handling on the flight deck, he discovered he was actually enjoying himself.

His back ached with a deep, steady pain, consistent enough to be absorbed into his concentration and thus ignored, though he knew he might pay for this with a delayed convalescence. Better to spend a few more days in bed later than to be dragged before Sleer, gloated over, and executed as an example to those who dared hope for a better life.

He had been working for almost four hours and the crew was beginning to hope that escape was possible. Vila, who had revived and had been put to work recalibrating instruments for each step of the repair process, had set them aside for a break period to rest his eyes; the detail work was not particularly good for his headache, but it was work he could do easily since he suffered from no blurred or double vision. Periodically he stopped to massage his temples or apply a cold pack to his bruised skull, leaning back in his seat, sometimes with his eyes closed and sometimes looking lazily around the flight deck.

Upon learning that Tarrant had attacked him, Vila had grumbled and complained a lot, but without any real malice, except toward the unknown programmers. Avon had put aside his tools long enough to tell Vila the sequence of events.

"I should have known," Vila said afterwards. "I remember him yesterday--was it yesterday? I'm a bit hazy on things like that yet. He looked like he meant to transmit something."

"I appreciate your telling us about it."

"I told Dravot," Vila defended himself.

"For all the good it did." Vila winced.

"Well, I didn't know he had homicidal urges, did I? I don't take kindly to people trying to kill me. He--" Avon tensed, and Vila broke off, appalled. "I mean, getting whacked on the head's not my idea of a great time," he persisted awkwardly.

"What would you have me say, Vila?" Avon demanded unexpectedly. "I should like to put Malodaar behind us."

"I--Avon, would you have...done it?" Vila asked. He stared up at Avon, whose face showed vulnerability for an instant before he donned his mask again. "I don't know," he said abruptly, then he shook his head. "I fear so, Vila," he admitted with surprising honesty.

"Well, it was your life or mine," said Vila in a small voice. "After all, I'm only a Delta grade ignorant, so probably people would think--"

"Vila." Avon's voice was so soft that Blake feared Vila wouldn't hear it, but Vila did. He ran down in a welter of confused words and sat there looking at Avon helplessly.

"Vila, having almost experienced your death and Blake's," Avon said with great difficulty, meeting neither man's eyes, "I suspect that, were it to do over again, my choices might be...different."

Vila mulled that over. "You mean you'd have done it then but you wouldn't now?" he asked. "That's what you mean, is it?"

Avon met his eyes momentarily then glanced past him to find Blake watching him too.. "Yes, Vila," he said with the faintest trace of a smile. "That is what I mean. I fear my survival instincts are not what they used to be."

"I don't know," Vila returned, looking as if someone had lighted a hundred candles behind his eyes. "After all, you're the one who found out what that bastard Egrorian did to us. And you didn't shoot Blake though you halfway wanted to."

"I didn't want--" Avon shook his head. "I believed Tarrant," he confessed. "I must have been far gone to do that. And now it seems that Tarrant may have been acting according to programming even then. Perhaps the program decided he had a better chance of securing Blake dead."

"It's hard to say what it was," Blake replied easily. Something had broken past Avon's walls, whether it be the whole Gauda Prime experience the sight of Vila possibly dead or the realization that even Tarrant's betrayal had been beyond his control. If they could escape and relax, find some peace... Blake smiled a little. Maybe he could get Dravot to sing again. That had done them all good.

"Oh, no!" Vila cried.

That got everyone's attention; even Soolin levered herself out from under her console to see what Vila was pointing at. It was a blip on the main screen. It was close, too close to have escaped detection unless it was armed with the best detector shields the Federation had to offer. Once or twice before they'd encountered such screens, so he knew it was possible.

Now the ship hovered on the edge of visibility range moving in closer. They must have dropped their shields to save power as soon as they realized Blake's ship hadn't moved from its last known position. The only advantage Blake could see was that there was only one of them.

"Enhance visual, Orac," Blake ordered.

Even enhanced, the ship was too far away to be much more than a moving dot against the starfield. Orac lighted it red so it would show clearly. "Ship in question is a Panther class stealth ship, consisting of advanced boosters, weaponry and shielding, with a speed that could, for moderate stretches, match that of the  _Liberator_. It carries a crew of ten, usually a trained assault team for boarding purposes. Armament is heavy with plasma bolt intensity at a high level. This ship's shields will survive no more than three such bolts, two if placement is completely accurate."

"Oh wonderful," mourned Vila. "We're all going to die."

"Assuming they want us dead," Avon returned, and that made Vila's face fall still further.

"They're more likely to want me alive," Blake murmured. He hit the com switch. "Dravot, Tarrant, we're discovered. Keep working. I know repairs are nearly finished, and maybe we can stall long enough to complete them."

"Oh naturally we can, Blake," Avon scoffed. "This is a long range plan and that vessel did not just happen to be in the vicinity. Either Tarrant alerted the people who programmed him before we went to Gauda Prime or that is Servalan's ship."

"Neither is a very bright possibility, Avon. Soolin, don't stop your work."

"It's hopeless, Blake," she returned. "We've got at least another hour of repairs to make this ship even capable of movement, and that won't be at top speed. They'll be on us in twenty minutes."

"That may be, but unless they plan to blow us out of the sky, we've got one advantage; they want to take us alive. I don't think they'll do anything hasty."

"A trained assault team should speed things up considerably, Blake," Soolin observed cynically. "Ten men, armed and armored and prepared to wipe the deck with us is just what we need with two injured men and one programmed traitor. That leaves Avon, Dravot and me to resist them. Forgive me if I am skeptical."

"Orac, can you interfere with that ship in any way?" Blake asked.

"Of course I can. It will be difficult, however, as a number of the controls are not run with tarial cells, specifically armaments and main drive. We can affect speed to a degree and communications, but we cannot prevent that ship from reaching us. I can seal our airdock, but their assault teams will then blow them and destroy the ship."

"It might be better to lure them aboard and overcome them then," Blake mused. "What about it, Avon? Are you willing to try?"

"Short of throwing ourselves on our swords or tamely surrendering to Servalan, I see no other alternative." He grimaced. "It is theoretically possible that we are pursued by the people who programmed Tarrant instead of by Servalan, though for all we know, it could be one and the same. Tarrant was remarkably friendly with her on the planet Virn."

"Was he now?" Blake frowned. "Somehow I sense the hand of Dev Tarrant in all of this. If he is on that ship, it will complicate everything."

"It seems you were right to test Tarrant. You simply did not test him thoroughly enough."

"What good does that do now?" Soolin asked impatiently. "It would be better to know who the people on that ship expect to find once they board. Will they know how many of us there are? We'll have to make it hard for them. They might not know about me, and they certainly won't expect Dravot. Why don't we hide and try to pick them off one by one. And we should hide Orac too."

"Well reasoned," Avon approved. "We need Tarrant here now."

"He probably won't be able to tell us anything," she objected.

"Oh, he will tell us something," Avon responded with a very feral smile.

#

 

"This is the Vindicator calling Roj Blake and his crew. Prepare to be boarded. You are now prisoners of the Federation. Offer no resistance. We are prepared to take you alive. You will be returned to Earth for trial. However, if you should fight, you will be dealt with. We will dock with your vessel in five minutes." The voice was cool and smug, and Tarrant stiffened. He knew that voice all too well. Reluctantly he turned to Avon, Blake and Vila. "That's him," he admitted as if it didn't matter. "That's my father."

"Conveniently on hand," Avon observed. "Do we detect the presence of further betrayal before we reached Gauda Prime?"

In the face of Avon's ominous expression, Tarrant felt a combination of guilt and resentment. He had not detected his father's plans until too late. It could only mean he'd alerted his father before they reached Gauda Prime. Tarrant's beacon must have either been directed to him specifically or consisted of a code that only Dev Tarrant could recognize. Having programmed his own son, Dev had every intention of getting full credit for his actions. Seething with resentment and betrayal, Tarrant recognized the proof that he was nothing to his father but a tool. After all this time he should have expected nothing more, but it still hurt.

"I suppose the programming kicked in when Orac confirmed we'd find Blake on GP," he admitted. "He couldn't have come so quickly otherwise."

"That's all we need," complained Vila. "We were tricked from the beginning. Thanks a lot, Tarrant."

"Programming is a useful tool," snapped Avon. He had largely ignored Tarrant since he'd come to the flight deck. It had been Blake who had questioned him in a calm steady voice that got through the walls he'd set around himself easier than any hot tempered demands or angry accusations would have done. Blake had been conditioned himself; maybe he could sympathize a little. There had been no sympathy on Soolin's face before she'd been sent to hide, and Tarrant had expected none from Avon. As for Vila, his head probably hurt too much to permit any concern for the man who'd struck him. Vila had seemed ready to forgive Avon for threatening him on Egrorian's shuttle, but then Vila had always tolerated more from Avon than any sane man had a right to expect. Maybe it was because Avon wasn't quite a sane man.

"It's no good telling you none of this is my idea, Avon. I'd hardly have chosen this, you know."

"I've noticed your loyalty," Avon replied with a hint of scorn.

"You should have noticed it, damn you." How big a fool was he to have hoped that Avon would understand? How much bigger fool to care when Avon had never regarded him with more than mild contempt at the best of times.

Unexpectedly, it was Vila who spoke in his defense. "He's right, Avon. He's been on our side. He was worried about you when we went to Earth looking for Bartolomew. He insisted we follow you on Terminal. Of course he argued with you-- _you_  argued with  _him_. You used to argue with Blake too, the way I remember it. I've got the feeling Tarrant's backed you more than you deserve. The programming isn't anything to do with us. He's been used. You wouldn't like it if  _you_  were used; don't expect him to be any happier about it than you are."

Avon looked thoughtful. "The difference being that we can't trust him now. Perhaps we may believe in his 'loyalty', but we cannot trust his actions."

The filtered voice of Dev Tarrant broke in again. "Docking will commence in two minutes. I don't expect a response from you, but I am curious. Have you discovered my son's work?"

Tarrant stiffened, more at the casual, uncaring tone his father affected when he said 'my son' than at the actual question. It was Avon who responded, Avon who could out sneer any of them, who said, "We have discovered  _your_  work. I have never understood Blake's obsession with his cause, but people like you make me understand his determination to overthrow the Federation."

"Kerr Avon, I presume. No idealist indeed. A more pragmatic form of rebellion. Interesting."

"I should have known it would take someone like you to make Avon a rebel, Father," snapped Tarrant. "Thank you for your concern."

"I have always done my duty to the Federation," Dev returned as if his motives were beyond reproach and his sons objections no more than minor irritations.

Tarrant avoided the others' eyes, afraid they would despise him along with his father or else pity him, and he could bear the thought of neither reaction.

Instead Blake spoke in that warm compelling voice that must have helped win Avon's loyalty. "The resistance is more than one man, Dev. People like you will never understand why we fight. One of the strongest reasons is people like you. Programmed or not, I'd choose your son over you without hesitation. Programming is not the measure of a man. You don't deserve Del's loyalty."

"Nevertheless I shall have it with a mere snap of my fingers."

"Unlikely," Avon purred. "Maybe you will control his actions, but you will succeed no further."

Avon may have been reacting to the threat of Tarrant's father, but his words felt good. Cautiously Tarrant risked a look at Avon, but Avon's face was cool and neutral, giving nothing away. Tarrant should have expected that.

"It's his actions that matter now," Dev retorted. "Prepare for boarding. I caution you, I am bringing an assault team with me. Resistance will be futile."

"'Resistance will be futile,"' Vila echoed mockingly. "Where do you get your dialog, cheap viscast melodramas?"

"Scoff if you will. You're all my prisoners. Out." The link was broken and tension settled over the flight deck.

"Assault team?" Vila wailed, his bravado gone. "Think Soolin and Dravot can pick off an assault team without getting caught?"

"Orac will help," Blake reminded him. "Tarrant, tell me. Is it likely the programming will turn you against us in the crisis?"

"Oh, probably," he snapped. "Better watch me carefully. I don't think he could make me kill any of you, but I don't want to take the chance."

"You have resisted programming to some extent," Avon conceded. "While I do not believe it is entirely broken, I suspect it has been weakened. I know you have no memory of the actual programming, but give us your opinion. Will he be able to reinforce it by the use of a trigger phrase?"

"I don't know, Avon. I don't know anything about it. Damn him. Damn him. I remember notifying him before we went to Gauda Prime. It's fuzzy but I can vaguely remember punching out a coded message. I remember attacking Vila. It's been coming back since then."

"You didn't contact him when we went to Terminal?"

"You kept Terminal a secret until the last minute," Tarrant reminded him. "I think I sent a message then too, but Terminal was so remote we were gone before he could get there. I'm sorry, Avon."

"Well now, I think Vila and Blake are more deserving of your apologies than I am."

Before Tarrant could speak, he felt the subliminal vibration beneath his feet as the other ship docked. Avon hit the shipwide comm. "They have arrived," he warned. "Prepare yourselves."

Prepare themselves? Tarrant made a wry face. How could he prepare himself to face the man held so desperately tried to please when he was a child, the man who had proven how ill he had succeeded by turning him into a tool to be used against his friends. Tarrant hated his father more than held ever believed possible, but deep inside there was a remnant of the small boy who had wanted his father's approval. He didn't know what held do when Dev Tarrant walked onto the flight deck, but Dev knew. He controlled his son, and Del hated that. His loyalty was to Avon, Vila and Soolin, perhaps even Blake. He owed Dev nothing, but he was guaranteed no choices. Suddenly Tarrant understood Deeta's desertion as he had never quite done before.

He looked around the flight deck. Vila was nervously clutching his gun, looking as if he wanted to crawl back into the air vent and never come out. Clearly still in pain, Blake had risen to meet the threat with no display of weakness, and Avon, that enigma of a man, was at his side, close enough to touch, prepared to offer him unobtrusive support. Almost without realizing it, Blake shifted as if he had known he had Avon's support without thinking about it, as if it was not only his right to expect it, but Avon's choice to give it. Avon's mouth twisted when he noticed Blake's reaction, then, for just an instant, his smile became genuine and his hand caught Blake's elbow, steadying him. The support wouldn't be visible to anyone walking onto the flight deck.

Blake turned and gave Avon a quick, warm look that made Tarrant understand why people followed Blake into hell. Tarrant knew he would have followed such a look himself.

Suddenly shooting echoed throughout the ship, a quick burst of fire, return fire, then silence. Soolin and Dravot were only two against a full assault team, though none of them would have Soolin's quickness and skill with a weapon, and Dravot had proven surprisingly competent.

Three times more came bursts of fire, three more times fire was returned. Then footsteps approached the flight deck, loud and crisp and threatening, but not as loud as it should have been. Soolin and Dravot had taken out some of the assault team. Good.

Dev Tarrant strode onto the flight deck as if he owned it, and Tarrant winced at the sight of his father. He shot a quick summing up look around the flight deck, triumph creeping across his face at the sight of Blake, Avon and Vila. Only then did he look at his son, and his face held smug satisfaction. "Del," he said.

"Father."

"You have done well, son. I'm proud of you."

"I've done ill and you haven't got it in you to be proud of anything but your own arrogance and deceit."

"I expect a little more filial respect than that, Del. Your loyalty should be to me and to the Federation. You have been carefully programmed--"

"To betray my friends, not to blind me to the iniquities of the Federation," Tarrant spat. "You've shown me exactly how much respect and loyalty I owe the Federation. None at all."

"Ah, but that is part of the programming too. I shall snap my fingers and you will return to your normal self."

"You might control ,my actions, damn you, but you can't control my soul."

"Can't I?" Dev shrugged. "No matter. I have backup, as you see." He gestured to the four troopers behind him, who wore assault armor over the standard Space Command uniform. Four? Surely he'd brought more with him. Dravot and Soolin had weeded out a good number of the opposition. That gave them more leeway.

But not much of it. While two of the troopers covered them, the other two stripped away the weapons Avon, Vila and Blake had been holding. Tarrant hid a faint smile. He was not searched. Blake had suspected he wouldn't be, and he and Avon had argued over it. Now Blake had been proven right. But Avon could be right too, and Tarrant knew it. His father had not yet 'snapped his fingers,' but it was possible that further programming would kick in if he did and their plan might be for nothing.

"Not much backup," Tarrant observed coolly. "What happened to the rest of your troops, Father?"

"The rest of your rag tag band will be mopped up in due time."

"After you've finished gloating? After you've patted yourself on the back and told yourself what a hero you are?"

"You mistake me, Del. You always did. I'm no hero. I'm simply a man who does his job, thoroughly and methodically. I should be a fool to let sentiment get in my way, especially when I do so much undercover work."

"Oh, I see. None of this matters to you, only doing the job, is that it? Program your own son, be the good soldier, only following orders. The number of crimes committed by people who claimed that excuse go all the way back to the old calendar and beyond."

"Del is right," Blake joined in the discussion. "People like you are the cause of people like me, but you don't see that, do you? Do your job, get your reward, feel smug and superior afterwards. Obey orders and never dare to think for if you do you might see the rot within the system."

"I've no patience with rebel scum," Dev returned, yet without heat. He was almost programmed himself, programmed by the Federation, a mindless puppet, dangerous to people outside the system. Tarrant was tired of it all. He had wasted too many years agonizing over this man, struggling for his respect, even his interest; held become so dependent on Deeta when he was a child because his father had never been there, and Deeta, who had eight years on him, must have gone through the same thing and understood his brother's needs and frustrations. But even Deeta had reached his limits. Had Del finally found his own?

"I'm 'rebel scum' myself," he claimed defiantly.

"You're nothing of the sort. A loyal Federation officer."

"I haven't been that for a long time. Long before you whisked me away for your secret programming, so I could go after Blake for you. You'd managed his capture, but he got away and your pride couldn't stand it, so you used me to get him back. It took you long enough. You only win by default." He smiled with stiff and reluctant lips. "How will it look to your fine Federation friends when your own son is executed along with Blake? Or will I be slipped off and killed privately so that no one will know?"

"You? Don't expect anything special. If you claim you're one of them, you'll die with them. You've fulfilled your part in my plan and you're expendable now, just like the others. It's Blake who matters now. I'm taking him back alive."

He was being discarded, rejected completely, and it hurt. He watched his father--no, not his father, not any longer--gesture toward Avon and Vila. "We don't need those two. Their bodies will be sufficient. Kill them."

As guns started to come up, Vila shrank back in wide-eyed horror. He might have looked like that when Tarrant attacked him, driven by this man who now casually ordered his death. Tarrant had almost killed Vila once. Would he let Dev finish the job?

And Avon? Avon whom he respected, Avon who was his ally whether he wanted him or not. Could he let Avon die? Tarrant started to slide his hand inside his tunic for the gun concealed there--and froze. More programming? Only centimeters to go. Time slowed down as he fought the compulsion to stand there and let it end, without his help, without his involvement.  _Forget them, Del_ , a voice urged within his head.  _What are they, only rebels? You don't belong with them_.

Hot, greedy satisfaction glittered in his father's eyes as the troopers prepared their weapons. He was complacent; he did not fear his son.

"NO!" Tarrant cried desperately as the gun sprang to his hand. Though it burned through his brain when he tried to pull the trigger, his finger closed over it and he began to fire. Somewhere distantly in the background, he heard Avon cry, "Now, Orac!" but it was remote. For him, nothing existed but the gun in his hand and the agonizing effort it took to fire. Three of the troopers went down in the first burst, the fourth ducking for shelter behind a console, but Avon dived for his gun and took him out. Another shot almost hit Tarrant, and he saw his father leveling his gun at him for a second shot.

It was the ultimate rejection and it swept away the remnants of the programming. As Tarrant's gun spoke and Dev Tarrant crumpled, Tarrant watched him fall. The gas that Orac pumped into the ship, through the flight deck and into the other ship through the open airlock hardly seemed real.

Dravot and Soolin were armed with breathing masks so they could go aboard Dev's ship and take out the rest of the opposition. Uncertain of the situation here on the flight deck, Avon and Blake had ruled that a heavy dose of gas be pumped here too. It was easier to recover from unconsciousness than from a plasma bolt at close range.

The gas swirled around him, invisible but present; he could feel it in the tightness in his chest and the way his eyes watered, tears trickling unchecked down his face. The gas. Yes.

Something touched his arm and he tried to raise his gun, but it was only Avon, prying the weapon from his cramped fingers. "I don't believe I want you passing out with that thing in your hand," he said, his words sounding curiously far away.

Suddenly free of constraint, Tarrant let go, and he found himself sitting on the deck, staring blankly up at Avon.

Vila arrived, wearing a breath mask, offering one to each of them, moving along to make sure Blake had one too.

The world was blurring around him, but Tarrant didn't put it on. He simply sat there staring at the device, and it was left for Avon to pry open his fingers a second time and fit the mask over Tarrant's nose and mouth. He stood up at once, and Tarrant told himself he hadn't seen concern in Avon's face. He must be lightheaded; he must have imagined it. But Avon's hand rested on his shoulder for a moment, and it was Avon who hauled him to his feet and steered him into a seat before turning to retrieve Orac from its hiding place behind a panel across the flight deck.

Tarrant watched him blankly, scrubbing a hand across his eyes, his mind still fogged from the gas. He saw his father's body crumpled on the deck and averted his eyes. He didn't know what was supposed to happen next.

 

#

 

Avon took a number of deep breaths to steady himself and clear away the lingering effects of the knockout gas, feeling his mind begin to function normally again. He looked across the flight deck, past a dazed and stricken Tarrant to Vila, who was urging Blake to sit down. Blake's face was pale, which could have been a result of the nearness of their escape, the gas or his wound, and Vila could deal with him now.

Gun at ready, gas mask firmly in place, Soolin burst onto the flight deck and did a hasty count to make certain everyone was all right. The sight of Tarrant stopped her and she demanded, "Wounded?"

"Too much gas," corrected Avon, feeling no need to explain further. "I predict he will be groggy for the next several hours. Leave him alone. Dravot?"

"On board their ship. The gas has taken effect. Since you're all right here, I'm going to help him."

"Help Vila clear the flight deck first."

"Help Vila?" Vila echoed. "I'm wounded, Avon, remember? Why don't you get Tarrant to--" He caught a good look at Tarrant then and fell silent, a contrite look upon his face. "Why don't  _you_  do it then?"

"Because someone must continue repairs."

"I have a better idea, Avon," Blake interrupted. "The Panther class ship is useful. I think we should take it with us. It's functional. We can put the rest of its crew in a life pod or lock them up until we reach a neutral planet. If we let the Panther ship provide the drive, I think both ships could take the stress if we remained docked until this ship is repaired."

"Orac can scan the vessel for transmitters and other dangers," Avon agreed. "Very well, Blake. I shall complete the examination. You stay here." He nudged Dev Tarrant's body with his toe. "Get busy, Vila," he urged more sharply.

Vila caught his eye and followed Avon's pointed look down to the body. "Right," he capitulated, darting a sympathetic glance at Tarrant. "Come on, Soolin," he urged.

Tarrant's father had acted more quickly than either he or Blake had expected, and Orac must have begun the gas on its own before he had given the order, but if Tarrant hadn't broken programming and fired, Avon could well be dead. He was not entirely pleased with the thought of owing his life to Tarrant, and neither was he sentimental enough to believe that Tarrant had done what he did out of fondness for Avon or Vila, though he had done it  _when_  he did it to spare their lives.

But Avon had faced a similar betrayal in a cellar back on Earth and he understood what Tarrant must be feeling. Ever since he had found Vila jammed into the air vent, Avon's plans to walk away and leave these people to their own devices had faltered. He was uncomfortable with the thought of needing any of them; it was easier to believe that they needed him. He suspected however that he would be safer with Blake and the others and that walking away might prove impossible. Refusing to care might be safe-but it wouldn't protect them, and Avon was honest enough to accept the fact that they mattered, now that it had been made clear to him. His first instinct had been to run, but running would solve nothing. He would be alone and the others would be denied his expertise and his survival skills. Together, they just might make it.

Taking Orac, he waited until Soolin and Vila had removed Dev Tarrant's body, then he joined Blake. Lowering his voice, he said, "I suggest you watch Tarrant while we are gone."

"You don't think he'd hurt me now?" asked Blake in surprise.

"You would be certain to doubt it and thus risk yourself," Avon retorted. "No, Blake. I think Tarrant is most dangerous to himself at the moment."

"A guess, Avon?"

"Experience."

Questions flashed in Blake's eyes, and Avon turned away from them. Deciding to stay didn't mean lowering  _all_  his defenses. If Blake wanted answers, let him work for them. Before Blake could start in, Avon headed for the other ship.

#

 

It took almost three hours to prepare everything, remove all transmitters and homing beacons, arrange for Orac to interface with the Panther ship and to deal with the three remaining crew of the vessel. The bodies of the troopers killed on the flight deck and by Soolin and Dravot were spaced. Avon hesitated fractionally over Dev Tarrant's body, then he ordered it spaced too. If Tarrant had any desire to go through the ritual of a star orbit burial, he would have to do so after the fact, and Avon doubted he would have any desire to do so, though his memories of Anna's death made him hesitate. Soolin met his eyes. "We'd better just do it," she agreed. Then, as if she guessed what he was thinking, she said quietly, "Your Anna claimed to care for you at the end. This one--" a vicious prod with her toe--"didn't even bother to lie."

"Anna lied very well," Avon replied, wondering how Soolin knew what had happened in the cellar. Perhaps Dayna had told her. Avon was not grateful. He put up walls against the sympathy in Soolin's face, and she recognized them and withdrew. Together they spaced the body of Tarrant's father.

When the cleaning up was done, Avon went in search of Dravot, who was completing the repairs on the drive. "We will be ready to move within fifteen minutes," he reported. "Are you prepared to compensate for structural stress?"

"I've run it all through the computer," Dravot replied. "We should be all right at time distort 2. We won't get very far, but I want us away from this spot. We'll run with detector shielding on both ships. When the repairs are finished, we'll detach and Soolin and I will bring the Panther ship along."

"Excellent." Avon turned to go.

"How's the lad?"

He paused in the door. "He got more of the gas than the rest of us. He's still shaky."

"Not entirely due to the gas, is it, then?"

"I expect not."

"Avon?"

"Now what?"

"Don't be too hard on him. I think he minds terribly about the programming. It's made him feel his whole life has been a lie."

"Surely not," Avon responded.

"What would you do if the one thing you believed most turned out to be a lie?"

Avon was silent a long moment, then he said flatly, "I killed her," and turned to leave.

"I see I'm wading in with heavy boots, and I don't mean to do that. But you've been through a rough patch too. Give him a little sympathy."

"Sympathy from me would put him into shock."

"Then a little less of your usual manner wouldn't hurt. I like Tarrant. He's got potential."

Avon nodded reluctantly. "I have long recognized that. I have hardly been the best of companions for him."

"On the contrary, I think you've been good for him. He never needed coddling before. You've shown him the advantages of strength and restraint, and in some ways you've taken the place of that brother of his who died."

Avon threw him an affronted look. "I hardly think so."

"I do. Just give him a fair chance. His father is the one who betrayed him, he wasn't the one betraying you--and before you say it amounts to the same thing, remember how close you came to killing Blake on Gauda Prime."

"You have an annoying knack for putting other people in the wrong," Avon snapped but with less resentment than he'd expected to feel. For the first time, he began to understand why Blake had trusted this man, though he liked hearing a few home truths no better than the next man.

"I don't mean to put you in the wrong, Avon, only to remind you that it's not where Tarrant is either. He has nothing left of his childhood. He'll have to look hard to find himself again. Don't make it worse."

"Tarrant is useful to me," Avon reminded him. "I have no intention of worsening the damage."

"Put it that way if you will." The corners of Dravot's mustache twitched as he smiled at Avon. "I'd better get on with this if we're to get away."

"You can handle the piloting from here?"

"It's not complex. I've studied it all and I know the system. Orac will do most of it."

"A useful tool, Orac," Avon agreed and moved on.

When he reached the flight deck, he found Blake running circuit checks again, Vila ensconced in the pilot's chair and Tarrant stretched out on Vila's abandoned couch asleep.

"Let him rest, Avon," Blake recommended with a gesture at Tarrant.

"I had planned on it. We're ready to move. I want every step of this monitored. Dravot will control the Panther ship remotely while he works the repairs. We expect to have it finished within the hour." He leaned over Blake's screen. "Any difficulties?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

Avon cocked an eyebrow at him. "Well now, we'll see about that, won't we, Blake?"

"Will we, Avon?"

"What are your plans now? Another rebel base, a few dangerous raids, blow up a communications center or a supply dump? Something dangerous, surely?"

"If I've got any say, I think we should find a place for some R and R," Vila put in cheerfully, turning to grin at Avon and Blake. "I fancy a long holiday until my ears stop ringing."

"Knowing you, they will continue to ring on cue for the next three months," Avon complained. Settling in his position, he began to check life support before running a systems check on the available power.

"Three months sounds about right," Vila muttered under his breath.

Blake glanced over at Tarrant. "Vila's right, up to a point. Maybe not three months, but we need a break."

"Not the least being due to that great hole in your back," Vila reminded him.

Looking at Blake, Avon noticed the fatigue in his face. "Since we can't go to Zardo, where do you plan on risking us next?" he asked.

"I thought of Moulay. It's remote but the Federation has no hold there, and it's within a reasonable range."

"It's also one of the first places they'd look."

"True, Avon, but I have some contacts there and access to an underground landing area. Besides, I think they'd expect us to go to Ritter. There's a rebel movement there."

"More of your rabble?"

"Some of them, yes."

"And who from GP knows about your underground base on Moulay?" Avon asked suspiciously. Blake looked up.

"None of them. I've learned my lesson about trusting people, Avon. I've learned to keep my own counsel."

"If so, I shall be very surprised."

Blake grinned unexpectedly. "Now that you're back, I'll leave the suspicions to you. You're so much better at it than I am."

Avon grimaced, mostly to hide a return smile. Reluctantly he found himself recalling how much he'd always enjoyed the challenge of Blake. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vila grinning and knew Vila had interpreted his reaction with surprising accuracy. Vila had always been better at it than Avon had been willing to admit.

To distract them both, he hit the comm switch. "Dravot, Soolin, report in please."

"Ready, Avon," Soolin responded.

"Controls are set," Dravot agreed. "We'll go--now."

Readouts began to show on Avon's and Blake's screens. They were moving, though slowly. Avon activated the detector shields.

"Give me readouts on that, Blake," Avon requested. "If we register a power drain, we'll need to make some changes."

"What do you want me to do?" asked Vila.

"You could try shutting up."

"I could take your place while you catch a nap."

"I have work to do," Avon returned.

"You look like you're good for another five minutes, and that's a generous estimate."

Avon knew Vila was right. Though he'd ignored it so far, fatigue lay like a heavy blanket across his shoulders, and the figures on the screen before him had an annoying tendency to flicker and blur before his eyes. He had resisted it with cool determination in much the same way he'd fought sleep on Ultraworld, with only slightly more success, but now that Vila had called it to his attention, it was impossible to ignore.

"You see," Vila observed to Blake, waving a hand in Avon's direction. "He's always been stubborn, hasn't he?"

Blake grinned broadly. "What do you recommend we do about it, Vila?" he asked in conspiratorial tones.

"We? You, maybe. Avon does what he wants to, more fool him. I say we just wait, and when he falls over and starts snoring, we'll pick him up and put him on the other couch."

"You will have a long wait," Avon informed them. He turned his attention back to the screen with an effort, and it slid sideways before his startled eyes. Vila was laughing as he came forward and caught him.

#

 

Repairs finished on schedule in spite of Avon's unexpected nap, and the two ships detached. The movement woke Tarrant, and moving like an old man, he got up and replaced Vila at the helm without saying more than, "I'll take over now, Vila." He examined the settings of the controls and studied the course that had been laid in, then he contacted Dravot on the other ship and made plans for speed and set up a contact schedule. Vila cast a concerned look at Blake, but Blake shook his head. Orac had reported that Tarrant's programming was gone, and it was better Tarrant had something to do. Blake didn't plan to interfere with anything that would help him get through this difficult time.

Avon was still sleeping, proof of how completely exhausted he was. He slept like a child, and Blake smiled fondly as he watched him. Even in sleep, Avon didn't look particularly vulnerable, but he did look more human. Right now he was smiling faintly, apparently at some dream, and Blake was glad the dream was pleasant. He didn't quite let himself hope that his reunion with Avon had anything to do with it, but Avon had started out totally removed from them all and had been gradually changing ever since Vila's attack. Blake was not jealous that Vila had proven the catalyst in getting through to Avon; he knew it was due to a combination of many factors, and he also knew it would take very little for Avon to withdraw from them again. Blake had some responsibility here. He'd never intended to create a dependency and then depart, but it had worked out that way. Before he went back to the rebellion, he must help Avon out of the hole he'd dug for himself.

Then there was Tarrant. Avon wasn't the only one riding the edge. After what Tarrant had endured, it was a wonder he could function well enough to pilot the ship, but Tarrant had completed a two year course in the Kerr Avon school of icy withdrawal, and Tarrant had learned the lesson well. Blake had seen that look on Avon's face before, many times. On Tarrant it wasn't quite as effective as it was on Avon; Tarrant's face wasn't particularly designed for a sneer.

Vila had started this voyage ambivalent about Avon due to the shuttle incident, but somewhere along the way he'd become reconciled with Avon. How long would that last? If Avon continued to improve, Vila might be all right too, but it wasn't fair to Vila to assume he only needed a healthy Avon to be healthy himself. That detracted from Vila and oversimplified everything. Vila had been through a betrayal too, and though he'd come to terms with it, the relationship between him and Avon would be bound to be different.

Soolin was less hostile now. For all her cool demeanor, she had strong feelings for her companions, feelings she had demonstrated through her hostility to Blake. As they spent time together, Blake realized he was simply the focus for her anger; it was far easier to be angry at Blake than to face the loss of Dayna. Blake could understand that; Jenna's death had left a hollow place inside him that he had not yet faced properly. Why should he assume these people would handle grief any better than he did.

At least Dravot would back him. He was glad of Dravot's presence, one bit of stability in an uncertain world. He liked the man and trusted him, and he was glad that something had been saved from the debacle on Gauda Prime.

He knew Moulay could only be an interim solution, a hiding place. The underground hangar was not in perfect repair, and life would not be easy there, but it would shelter them until they could decide where to go next. The Panther ship might well be the answer. He'd looked at it briefly, still too weak for intensive exploring. It was a lot bigger than his ship, better shielded, better armed, if not quite as fast. Neither ship had a teleport, but Blake suspected he and Avon could build one together. If they modified the Panther ship, giving it teleport and the photonic drive Avon and Tarrant had mentioned, they might be able to return to space until plans could be made to coordinate a new rebel movement. Blake knew he could not give that up, but at least Avon would be there to tell him when he became too obsessed with revolution.

They saw no Federation ships on the way to Moulay. Blake hoped they'd be safe in the base before the Federation pursued them there.

Avon awoke in time to assist with the landing, looking as if the sleep had refreshed him. He shot a measuring glance around the flight deck, totaling their assets, nodding when he saw Vila sleeping again, a slight frown furrowing his brow at the sight of Tarrant clinging grimly to the controls. He shot a questioning look at Blake, who nodded reassuringly.

Avon chose to ignore Tarrant at first. "Have you slept, Blake?" he asked, doing his best to sound like a man assessing the crew's resources instead of expressing concern for a friend. Blake wasn't fooled.

"I had a nap. Vila and I have been taking turns. He's much better."

"He wasn't hurt as badly as you were. You'll be useless to us if you collapse."

"I'm the one who knows the code to get us into the Moulay base. Once we're down I'll rest."

Avon accepted the logic of that, though he threw Blake a penetrating look before turning. He went to stand behind Tarrant. "Orders, captain?" he said in a mock subordinate tone that surprised Blake.

It surprised Tarrant too, for his head jerked up, startlement on his face. Then his mouth quirked in a halfhearted smile. "So you're with us again. Will you contact Dravot and see how far behind us he is?"

"What makes you think he isn't ahead of us?" Vila asked, sitting up and grinning impudently.

Tarrant simply looked at him, and Vila responded hastily, "Oh yes, that's right, I forgot we had the galaxy's greatest pilot on board. Never mind that Dravot's got thirty years experience on you and a better ship. We've got Tarrant."

"Oh, shut up, Vila." But Tarrant relaxed a little more.

As Avon raised the other ship and checked with Soolin, Blake quirked an eyebrow at this state of solidarity among the erstwhile crew of the  _Scorpio_. It had been in abeyance after Malodaar and Gauda Prime, but it was beginning to resurface, and even Avon might be willing to help Tarrant, though if challenged he would probably find some rational, pragmatic, cold-blooded motive for his actions. Blake wanted to create an environment so secure that Avon would not feel exposed if he admitted genuine concern for his friends, or even admitted that they  _were_  his friends.

They landed on Moulay without incident, the Panther ship arriving some quarter of an hour after Blake's vessel, and sealed the base. "No one should be here," Blake reported. "But I wouldn't take it on faith. Let's spread out and search the base."

Avon automatically checked the setting on his gun, heading for the main hatch, Tarrant right behind him. Blake decided that for now the best thing he could do would be to keep both men as busy as possible, at least until the pressure let up. Vila grinned disparagingly and followed with an exaggerated display of reluctance that made both men turn and chorus, "Oh, come on, Vila," then stare at each other in startled amusement. Vila trailed after them, complaining loudly, and brief sympathy passed between Avon and Tarrant. When neither of them were looking, Vila shot Blake an encouraging smile.

The base was clean, so when Dravot brought the Panther ship in, everyone was relieved. Blake suspected that the release of pressure might be as dangerous as the pressure itself had been so he gathered them all together in the main control room and proceeded to draw up a duties roster, thinking furiously and trying to cover every contingency. Vila could be counted on to complain at the thought of all the work Blake was planning, and Soolin was cool and wary, unwilling to commit herself to Blake's cause though she was no longer making noises about leaving.

He expected Avon to protest once he heard Blake's plans, but Avon didn't protest. He made several rather pointed suggestions about Blake's foolhardiness and the unlikelihood of some of his strategies, but he didn't try to disassociate himself from them. Blake hid a smile. It had always been Avon's way to put up a wall to protect himself from everyone, even his friends, but Avon had stayed on Liberator when he'd had a chance to go, and he'd stayed with Blake when he could have taken the Liberator and run. Now he was staying again. Later, when he tried to express his feelings to Vila, the thief smiled knowingly.

"Well, Blake, why do you think he wanted to find you, so he could go away again?"

"I'm not sure what he'll do any more."

"Neither is he, but I think he's finding out. Bear with him, Blake. You could always get through to him before when none of the rest of us could."

"Could I, Vila? I'm not quite sure."

"Give him time, Blake," Vila urged.

Blake realized it was his only option.

#

 

Bond Dravot was disappointed in the Moulay base, considering it too small, too poorly equipped and too vulnerable to serve as an ongoing base, with the additional problem its location on a settled world. Though there was considerable space traffic in and out of Moulay, an extensive scan of records might locate their base, so he was determined to get out of here quickly. Only his loyalty to Blake prevented him from cutting his losses, that and the fact that in spite of his best intentions, he was beginning to take an interest in Avon's crew, particularly Tarrant. The group required someone stable, with a clear head and a healthy dose of common sense, to steer them onto the right path. That night, when a sleepy band of would-be rebels gathered in the largest room in the tiny underground complex, Dravot was certain of it. A well adjusted bunch would have gone off to sleep, posting guards or detailing Orac to handle the night watch. But even though Avon's battered band couldn't seem to get along for five consecutive minutes without arguing, they displayed a need for togetherness.

Because it had been so well received on GP, Dravot fetched his guitar and strummed it idly while the others ate, pausing to take a few bites himself from time to time. Everyone seemed lethargic and when the meal was finished, no one moved.

Dravot eyed them sympathetically. Though he thought Blake should be resting, and probably Vila too, he didn't say so. Instead he struck a few dramatic chords and launched into a bright and cheerful song, causing Vila to lift his head and grin, winning a smile from Blake and Soolin, and making Avon grimace with deliberate scorn. Tarrant didn't react at all, and right now Tarrant was the one Dravot wanted to reach.

He went through his repertoire of happy tunes, various folk melodies from a variety of worlds and some from the past; he'd made a study of it at one time, considering a career in music, and only the fact that his pleasant baritone was not quite outstanding enough to make it in that risky field had deterred him. Instead he'd pursued his other love, space and ships, and had wound up at the Academy, but he'd never abandoned his music, and it was coming in useful now.

"Anyone who wants to join in, feel free," he urged. "I'll need to rest my voice occasionally. Anyone know this one?" He launched into 'Passage from Earth', a song that had followed whole generations of immigrants to the outer worlds to start new lives. Vila joined in the first time around and Blake picked up the chorus. Dravot had always appreciated Blake's singing voice, though he was untrained, and the two of them had sometimes met for music sessions back on GP.

Avon didn't permit himself to sing, and Soolin joined in for only the occasional chorus, but it was Tarrant Dravot wanted to sing with him, feeling he needed it, so he struck the introduction for 'Mister Tambourine Man' and turned to him. "What about it, lad? We did a good job together before."

"Too tired," muttered Tarrant in a dispirited voice.

"You may as well sing," Avon told him pointedly. "I have a feeling he's as stubborn as Blake when he sets his mind on something."

"I'm not in the mood," Tarrant snapped. "Leave it, Avon. It's nothing to do with you."

"More than you would think."

"He's right," intervened Blake, shifting surreptitiously as if he thought no one would notice his back was hurting him. "We're a team. What affects one of us affects us all."

"Oh, is that what I was trying to say?" Avon asked with a hint of sarcasm, but he didn't avoid Blake's knowing grin.

"Oh, come and sing with me," Dravot prodded good naturedly. "You've got a decent voice. If you don't, I might be stuck with Vila again."

Vila howled a protest, but Tarrant didn't react. Instead he looked at Avon, who looked back, and Dravot realized that Tarrant needed Avon's acceptance more than that of any of the others. That could be a problem, for it was not Avon's way.

But Avon said in a bored voice, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I would like very much to sleep. The sooner you sing the damned song, Tarrant, the sooner we can all get out of here."

For a moment it all hung in the balance. Tarrant made an abortive gesture as if he meant to stalk from the room, but at the last minute, he lowered himself into his chair again. "Oh, if only to shut you up," he snapped back, nodding for Dravot to continue.

At first Tarrant sang mechanically, a mutoid ordered to sing and obeying because it was his duty, then the poignant lyrics and melody caught him and the mood that had struck them all on Gauda Prime drifted back. Avon sat solemnly like a Federated Broadcasting critic, though Dravot noticed his foot tapping out the beat. Realizing he was observed, he forced himself to stillness. Soolin's body swayed in time with the music. Her eyes were on him rather than on Tarrant, and Dravot smiled at her as he sang. She returned the smile, her face warming. She needed something like this. She'd been without a family so long she'd nearly forgot what it was like, and was only now rediscovering the advantages of group support. She would be all right.

Blake had fallen asleep. Dravot wasn't surprised; when the song was over, he'd get Avon to help put him to bed. He needed more rest because of his wound.

Though Vila's face was serious, he was enjoying himself. Vila seemed more resilient than he'd been at the start, and that was good. He gave the group its stability even if none of the others realized it, and they'd been in danger of losing it. Dravot wondered if Vila knew how much Avon had worried about him when he was hurt and if that had helped him rediscover his perspective.

As he sang, Tarrant wept silently, and Dravot was glad of the dimly lit room. The others wouldn't say anything, and the boy needed it badly. He'd had too many illusions shattered, and it would be a hard road back to acceptance of himself, but tears could begin the healing process. Dravot took the song through an extra chorus or two, Tarrant's voice steady and sure, blending with his. He was hurting but he'd be all right.

Even Avon might help, though he had his own way of doing it. Let them quarrel and play their games of one upmanship. It would probably help.

The minute he struck the last chord, he set aside the guitar. "Avon, help me with Blake," he urged.

Avon resented the order--until he noticed Blake was sleeping, then he rose and joined Dravot at Blake's side. "I'll help too," Vila offered.

"No, you go to bed. You've still got a headache."

"Some adrenalin and soma would help," Vila suggested hopefully.

Soolin gave a sputter of laughter. "Why don't I help you find some?" she offered.

"Now there's an offer I can't refuse. I'll even share it with you if you like--in my quarters."

"No thanks. I prefer a bit more subtlety."

"That leaves you with Avon," Vila ragged her.

"I'll pass. I'm far too tired to deal with either of you. Avon will have to fetch his own adrenalin and soma." She and Vila went out together, laughing.

Tarrant stood up slowly, stretching, and rubbed his sleeve across his face when he thought no one was looking. "I'll set Orac to stand guard," he offered.

"You'll go to bed," Avon ordered. "Orac is my responsibility."

"You still don't trust me, Avon? Even now?"

"I seldom trust anyone," Avon retaliated. "In this case, I don't trust you to make it to the control center without falling asleep on your feet."

"Being so wide awake yourself," Tarrant countered. He essayed a half-hearted grin in Avon's direction and went out after Soolin and Vila.

Dravot gave a satisfied nod. "Wakey, wakey, Blake," he prodded. "I've done enough carrying you this trip."

Blake opened his eyes, discovered Avon supporting him and promptly leaned against him with perfect trust. Here with none of the others to see him, Avon stood steady, Blake's rock. "Bed for you, Blake," he said. "Otherwise, you'll be too tired to boss us properly tomorrow."

"I'll manage, Avon, with your help."

"If you insist, Blake."

They guided Blake's wavering footsteps down the corridor to his quarters and eased him into bed, pulling off his boots and spreading a blanket over him. He was asleep again before they finished.

"Well, come on," Dravot encouraged the exhausted Avon. "Orac's waiting."

He watched Avon head purposefully in the direction of the control center then he shook his head fondly. They were a strange bunch, these people, but he was beginning to like them. Helpless as newborn lambs right now. It looked like Dravot had his work cut out for him.

"What have you got me into this time, Blake?" he spoke aloud. He had no choice but to stay.

The End


End file.
